Pitching for the College Championship
By LESTER CHADWICK
author of
••BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS" "BASE.
BALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE," "THE RIVAL
FITCHEES/* " BATTING TO WIN," "THE WINNING
TOUCHDOWN," ETC.
ilLUSTRATBB
CIJPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS BY LESTER CHADWICK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, New York'
THE BASEBALL . JOE SERIES
lamo. Cloth. Illustrated
BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS
Or The Rivals of Riverside
BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
Or Pitching for the Blue Banner
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
Or Pitching for the College Championship
{Other Volumes Jn Preparation)
THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES
lamo. Cloth. Illustrated
THE RIVAL PITCHERS
A Story of College Baseball
A QUARTER-BACK’S PLUCK
A Story of College Football
BATTING TO WIN
A Story of College Baseball
THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN
A Story of College Football
EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
A Story of College Water Sports
{Other Volumes in Preparation)
CONTENTS
CHAFTEE
I Just In Time
II A Home Conference
III One Last Game
IV A Sneering Laugh
V Off For Yale
VI On the Campus
VII A New Chum
VIII Ambitions
IX The Shampoo
X A Wild Night
XI The Red Paint
XII Joe’s Silence
XIII Early Practice..
XIV The Surprise.
XV His First Chance
XVI Joe Makes Good
XVII Another Step.... —
Xli^III Plotting
X|^X The , Anonymous Letter.......
XX The Cornell Host. ..... — . . .
XXI Eager ■ Hearts ..... . . . .
XXII . The Crimson ■ Spot!'. . . . . . . .... .
[M. ' )||
PAGE,
I
IS
30
37
4S;
55
66
73
84
93
100
107
1 16
126
,,I3S'
144
■"■'..ISS'
164
170
I7S
185
I
CONTENTS
CHAPTEl
XXIII Joe's Triumph...*.-
XXIV Hard Luck...
XXV At West Point
XXVI A Sore Arm
XXVII The Accusation....
XXVIII Vindication • •
XXIX Bucking the Tiger. .
XXX The Championship
TMM
m
2m
210
, 216
. 223
. 230'
. 236
. 23i
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
CHAPTER I
JUST IN TIME
“Joe Matson, I can’t understand why you
don’t fairly jump at the chance ! ’’
“ Because I don’t want to go^ — that’s why.’’
“ But, man alive ! Half the fellows in River-
side would Stand on their heads to be in your
shoes.’’
“ Perhaps, Tom. But, I tell you I don’t think
I’m cut out for a college man, and I don’t want to
go,” and Joe Matson looked frankly into the face
of his chum, Tom Davis, as they strolled down the
village street together that early September day.
“ Don’t want to go to Yale! ” murmured Tom,
shaking his head as if unable to fathom the mys-
tery. “ Why I’d work my way through, if they’d
lf(^ me, and here you’ve got everything compara-
tively easy, and yet you’re balking like a horse that
■hasn’t had his oats in a month. Whew ! What’s
up, Joe, old man?”
*
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ' ■ ■
XXIII Joe's Triumph.... •••••• -
XXIV Hard Luck
XXV At West Point
XXVI A Sore Arm
XXVII The Accusation
X XVIII V indication / • ' *
XXIX Bucking the Tiger
XXX The Championship. . » • . <
TMm
im
2m
210
, 216
. 223
. '230
. 236
* 2m
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
CHAPTER I
JUST IN TIME
“Joe Matson, I can’t understand why you
don’t fairly jump at the chancel”
“ Because I don’t want to go— that’s why.”
“ But, man alive ! Half the fellows in River-
side would stand on their heads to be in your
shoes.”
“ Perhaps, Tom. But, I tell you I don’t think
I’m cut out for a college man, and I don’t want to
go,” and Joe Matson looked frankly into the face
of his chum, Tom Davis, as they strolled down the
village street together that early September day.
“ bon’t want to go to Yale ! ” murmured Tom,
shaking his head as if unable to fathom the mys-
tery. “ Why I’d work my way through, if they’d
\if me, and here you’ve got everything compara-
tively easy, and yet you’re balking like a horse that
hasn’t had his oats in a month. Whew! What’s
up, Joe, old man?”
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
XXIII Joe’s Triumph......
XXIV Hard Luck
XXV At West Point
XXVI A Sore Arm
XXVII The Accusation...,
XXVIII Vindication
XXIX Bucking the Tiger. .
XXX The Championship
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
CHAPTER I
JUST IN TIME
“Joe Matson, I can’t understand why you
don’t fairly jump at the chance!”
“ Because I don’t want to gO: — that’s why.”
“ But, man alive 1 Half the fellows in River-
side would stand on their heads to be in your
shoes.”
“ Perhaps, Tom. But, I tell you I don’t think
I’m cut out for a college man, and I don’t want to
go,” and Joe Matson looked frankly into the face
of his chum, Tom Davis, as they strolled down the
village street together that early September day.
“ t)on’t want to go to Yale 1 ” murmured Tom,
shaking his head as if unable to fathom the mys-
tery. “Why I’d work my way through, if they’d
Iflff me, and here you’ve got everything compara-
tively easy, and yet you’re balking like a horse that
hasn’t had his oats in a month. Whew! What’s
up, Joe, old man?”
* ■
CONTENTS
CHAPTEl
XXm Joe's Tbiumph... I 93
XXIV Haeb Luck 200
XXV At West Point 210
XXVI A Soke Arm 216
XXVII The Accusation 223
XXVIII Vindication. 230
XXIX Bucking the Tiger 236
XXX The Championship 235
«
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
CHAPTER I
JUST IN TIME
“Joe Matson, I can’t understand why you
don’t fairly jump at the chance ! ”
“ Because I don’t want to go^ — that’s why.”
“ But, man alive ! Half the fellows in River-
side would stand on their heads to be in your
shoes.”
“ Perhaps, Tom. But, I tell you I don’t think
I’m cut out for a college man, and I don’t want to
go,” and Joe Matson looked frankly into the face
of his chum, Tom Davis, as they strolled down the
village street together that early September day.
“ bon’t want to go to Yale! ” murmured Tom,
shaking his head as if unable to fathom the mys-
tery. “ Why I’d work my way through, if they’d
l^me, and here you’ve got everything compara-
tively easy, and yet you’re balking like a horse that
hasn’t had his oats in a month. Whew! What’s
up, Joe, old man?”
*
2
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Simply that I don’t believe I’m cut out fof
that sort of life. I don’t care for this college
business, and there’s no use pretending that I do.
I’m not built that way. My mind is on some-
thing else. Of course I know a college education
is a great thing, and something that lots of fellows
need. But for yours truly — not!”
“ I only wish I had your chance,” said Tom, en-
viously.
“ You’re welcome to It,” laughed Joe.
“ No,” and the other spoke half sadly. “ Dad
doesn’t believe in a college career any more than
you do. When I’m through at Excelsior Hall
he’s going to take me into business with him. He
talks of sending me abroad, to get a line on the
foreign end of it.”
“ Cracky! ” exclaimed Joe. “ That would suit
me down to the ground — that is if I could go with
a ball team.”
“ So you haven’t gotten over your craze for
baseball ? ” queried Tom.
“No, and I never shall. You know what I’ve
always said — that I’d become a professional some
day; and I will, too, and I’ll pitch in the world
series if I can last long enough,” and Joe !augl?&T
“But look here! ” exclaimed his chum, as^they
swung down a quiet street that led out into the
country; “you can play baseball at Yale, yo*^
know.”
JUST IN TIME
3
“ Maybe — If they’ll let me. But you know how
it is at those big universities. They are very ex-
clusive-societies — elections — eating clubs — and
all that sort of rot. A man has to be In with the
bunch before he can get a show.”
“That’s all nonsense, and you know It!”
snapped Tom. “ At Yale, I warrant you, just as
at every big college, a man has to stand on his
own feet. Why, they’re always on the lookout
for good fellows on the nine, crew or eleven, and,
if you can make good, you’ll be pitching on the
’varsity before the Spring term opens.”
“ Maybe,” assented Joe with rather a moody
face. “Anyhow, as long as I’ve got to go to col-
lege I’m going to make a try for the nine. I think
I can pitch a little ”
“ A little 1 ” cried Tom. “ Say, I’d like to know
what sort of a showing we’d have made at Excel-
sior Hall if it hadn’t been for your pitchingl
Didn’t you win the Blue Banner for us when it
looked as if we hadn’t a show? Pitch! Say if
those fellows at Yale ”
“ Spare my blushes,” begged Joe, with a laugh,
worry, I’m going to college for one rea-
son, more than another, because mother wants
me to. Dad is rather set on it, too, and so I’ve
said I’ll go. Between you and me,” whispered
Joe, as if he feared someone would overhear him.
4
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ I have a faint suspicion that my respected mother
wants to make a sky pilot of me.”
“ A minister !” cried Tom.
“That’s it.”
“Why— why ”
“ Oh, don’t worry! ” laughed Joe, and then his
face grew a bit sober as he continued: “I’m not
half good enough — or smart enough. I’m not cut
out for that sort of life. All I want is baseball
and all I can get of it. That’s my one ambition. ”
“Yes, it’s easy to see that,” agreed Tom. “I
wonder you don’t carry a horsehide about with
you, and I do believe — what’s this?” he de-
manded, pulling a bundle of papers from his
chum’s pocket. “ Some dope on the world
series, or I’m a June bug I ”
‘Well, I was only sort of comparing batting
averages, and making a list of the peculiarities of
each player — I mean about the kind of balls it
is best to serve up to him.”
“ You’re the limit! ” exclaimed Tom, as he Jried
unsuccessfully to stop Joe from grabbing the
papers away from him. “ Do you think you
might pitch to some of these fellows? ”
“ I might,” replied Joe calmly. “ A pro?^r
sional ball player lasts for some time, and -^en
I come up for my degree on the mound at some
future world series I may face some of Aese
same men.”
JUST IN TIME
S
“Go to it, old man! ” exclaimed Tom enthusi-
astically. “ I wish I had your hopes. Well, I
suppose I’ll soon be grinding away with the old
crowd at Excelsior, and you — ^you’ll be at —
Yale!”
“ Probably,” admitted Joe, with something of a
sigh. “ I almost wish I was going back to the old
school. We had good times there! ”
“We sure did. But I’ve got to leave you now.
I promised Sis I’d go to the store for her. See
you later,” and Tom clasped his chum’s hand.
“ That reminds me,” spoke Joe. “ I’ve got to
go back home, hitch up the horse, and take some
patterns over to BIrchville for dad.”
“ Wish I could go along, but I can’t,” said Tom.
“ It’s a fine day for a drive. Come on over to-
night.”
“Maybe I will — so long,” and the two friends
parted to go their ways, one to dream over the
good fortune of the other — to envy him — ^while
Joe Ijimself — Baseball Joe as his friends called
•him — thought rather regretfully of the time he
must lose at college when, if he had been allowed
his^wn v/ay, he would have sought admission to
scfae minor baseball league, to work himself up
to ajjpajor position.
“ But as long as the folks want me to have a
college course I’ll take it— -and do my best,” he
mused.
6
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
A little later, behind the old family horse, he
•was jogging over the country road in the direction
■of a distant town, where his father, an inventor,
and one of the owners of the Royal Harvester
Works, had been in the habit of sending his pat-
terns from which to have models made.
“ Well, in a few weeks I’ll be hiking it for New
Haven,” said Joe, half talking to himself. “ It’s
going to be awful lonesome at first. I won’t know
a soul there. It isn’t like going up from some prep
school, with a lot of your own chums. Well,
I’ve got to grin and bear it, and if I do get a
chance for the ’varsity nine — oh, won’t I jump
at it!”
He was lost in pleasant reflections for a mo-
ment, and then went on, still talking to himself,
and calling to the horse now and then, for the
steed, realizing that he had an easy master be-
hind him, was inclined to slow down to a walk
every now and then.
“There are bound to be lessons, of course,”
said Joe. “And lectures on things I don’t care
any more about than the man in the moon does. I
suppose, though, I’ve got to swallow ’em.
if I can get on the diamond once in a while it
.... ■ . H**'' ■ ■■ .■ :
won’t be so bad. The worst of it is, though, that
ball playing won’t begin until April at the earliest,
and there’s all winter to live through. I’m not
JUST IN TIME /
going in for football. Well, I guess I can stand
it.”
Once more Joe was off in a day-dream, in fancy
seeing himself standing in the box before yelling
thousands, winding up to deliver a swiftly-curving
ball to the batter on whom “ three and two ” had
been called, with the bases full, two men out and
his team but one run ahead in the final inning.
‘ Oh! that’s what life is! ” exclaimed Joe, half
aloud, and at his words the horse started to trot.
“That’s what makes me willing to stand four
years at Yale — if I have to. And yet ”
Joe did not complete his sentence. As he swung
around a bend in the road his attention was fully
taken by a surprising scene just ahead of him.
A horse, attached to a carriage, was being
driven down the road, and, just as Joe came in
sight, the animal, for some unaccountable reason,
suddenly swerved to the left. One of the wheels
caught in a rut, there was a snapping, cracking
soun^, the wheel was “ dished,” and the carriage
settled down on one side.
“Whoa! Whoa I” yelled Joe, fearing the
hor^e would bolt and that perhaps a woman might
by in the carriage, the top of which was up. The
laa ^as about to spring from his own vehicle and
rush to the aid of the occupant of the other, whpn
he saw a man leap out.
With one bound the man was at the head of
llEd UBKASr
8 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
his steed, holding him from running away, but
there was no need, for the horse, after a calm look
around, seemed to resign himself to his fate.
“Jove!” ejaculated Joe. “That was quick
work. That fellow is in training, whoever he is.”
Following his original plan, even though he saw
no need of going to the rescue, Joe leaped from
his seat. His steed, he knew, would stand with-
out hitching. He approached the stranger.
“ A bad break,” murmured Joe sympathetically.
“ Indeed it is, young man,” replied the other in
quick, tense accents. “ And it comes at a particu-
larly bad time, too.”
Joe looked at him. The man seemed about
thirty-five, and his face, though stern, was pleas-
ant, as though in the company of his friends he
could be very jolly. He was of dark complexion,
and there was that in the set of his figure, and
his poise, as he stood at the head of the horse,
that at once proclaimed him an athlete, at least if
not one in active training, one who could gat into
condition quickly.
“ A bad break, and at a bad time, too,” the man
went on. “ I never knew it to fail, when I^was
in a hurry.”
“I guess that wheel is past fixing,” spokarjoe.
“You might get one at the barn here,” and he
nodded toward a farmhouse not far distant.
“ I haven’t time to make the try,” said the man.
JUST IN TIME 9
‘‘ I’m in a great hurry. How far is it from here
to Preston? ”
“About five miles,” replied Joe.
“ Hum ! I never could make that in time to
catch the train for New York, though I might
have run it at one time. A little too heavy now,”
and he seemed referring to himself. “ I might
ride the horse, I suppose,” he went on dubiously.
“Pie doesn’t look much like a saddle animal,”
ventured Joe.
“ No, and there isn’t a saddle, either. I must
get to New York though — it’s important. I don’t
suppose you are going to Preston; are you?” he
asked of Joe quickly, referring to the nearest rail
road station.
“Well, I wasn’t,” replied the youth, “but if
you’re in a hurry ”
“I am — ^in a very great hurry. 1 Just hkd
about time to get the New York train, when,
most unfortunately, I got into that rut. At the
same iime the reins got caught, and I must have
pulled on the wrong one. I’m not much of a
horseman, I’m afraid. The animal turned too
quicljly, and the wheel collapsed.”
It wasn’t very strong, anyhow,” remarked
Jd^ijwas he looked critically at it. “ But if you
want to get to Preston I can take you.”
“ Can you — will you ? It would be a very great
accommodation. I really can’t afford to miss that
lO
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
train. I came out here on some business, and
hired this rig in Preston. I thought I would have
ample time to get back, and I believe I would.
But now, with this accident — I wonder if I could
leave this outfit at the farmhouse, and hire another
there ? ” he asked musingly.
“ I don’t believe Mr. Murchison has a horse
now,” said Joe, nodding toward the farmhouse.
“He has about given up working his place. But
you could leave this rig here to be called for,
and ”
“Yes — ^yes!” interrupted the man, quite im-
patiently. “I beg your pardon,” he added
quickly. “I’m all upset over this accident, and
I really must reach New York to-night.”
“I’ll drive you in! ’’ offered Joe.
” But it will be out of your way, will it not? ”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m in no hurry, and
going to Preston will not take me many miles off
my road. I’ll be glad to help you.”
“ Thank you. Then I’ll take advant^e of
your offer. Shall I^ — — ?” he made a move as
though to lead the horse up to the farmhouse.
“I’ll attend to that,” spoke Joe. “Just ^et in
my carriage, and I’ll be with you in a i^w
minutes.”
' The stranger obeyed, and Joe, unhitching the
horse from the broken carriage, quickly led the
f steed to the stable, stopping on his way to explain
JUST IN TIME
II
^ Mrs. Murchison, whom he knew slightly, the
circumstances. She readily agreed to let the ani-
mal stay in their stall. Then Joe pulled the tilted
carriage to one side of the road, and a few minutes
later was sending his steed ahead at a pace not
hitherto attained that day.
“Think we can make that train?” asked the
man, who seemed Immersed in his own thoughts.
“Fm going to make a big try,” answered Joe.
“ Do you live around here ? ” came the next
question.
“At Riverside — about eight miles away.”
The man lapsed Into silence, and as Joe was
rather diffident with strangers he did not press
the conversation. They drove on for several
miles, and suddenly the silence of the country was
broken by a distant whistle.
“Is that the train?” declaimed the man ner-
vously, looking at his watch; ■ ;
“Yes, but it’s about thrtee miles away. You
can always hear it plainly here. We’ll be in
Preston in a few minutes now, gnd I’ll have you
I at the station in time.”
f' , ^
“ ihope so,” murmured the man?- “ I must get
! • to^ew York — it means a great deal to me.l* ; ^
Jot urged the horse to even faster speed, an^
when he reached the quiet streets of Preston mors
than one person turned to look at the carriage,
12
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
which went along faster than vehicles usually did
in that quiet community.
Once miore the whistle sounded, and the man
exclaimed:
“ Well never make it! ”
“ Yes, we will,” said Joe quietly. “ The station
is only another block.”
“I’m sure I can’t thank you enough,” went on
the man, and his hand sought his pocket. “ You
say you’ll notify the livery keeper? ”
“Yes, I’ll tell him where his horse is, and he
can send for it.”
“That’s very kind of you. I wish you’d let
me give you something — reward you for this ser-
vice.”
“ -no I ” exclaimed Joe. “ I couldn’t think
of it! ” He saw a roll of bills in the man’s hand.
“ But you don’t know, young man, what it
means for me to catch this train. I wish you’d
let me pay for your time and trouble ”
. “No, indeed!” exclaimed the young pitcher.
'^;I would do as much for anyone, and T hope
e’d do the same forme.”
“ That’s a nice way of looking at it.
you sure you won’t let me make you-
But are
-’*“ The
man again held out some bills, but the loqf on
Joe’s face must have told him he was getfmg on
dangerous ground, for he suddenly withdrew them
and said:
jaST IN TIME
13
“ Well, I can’t thank you enough. Some day—
is that the train? ” he cried, as a puffing was heard.
“ I mustn’t miss it now.”
“ Here we are I ” cried Joe, swinging around a
corner. Down a short street was the depot, and
as they came in sight of it the train pulled in.
“ I — et: — I wish — I must run for it! ” exclaimed
the man.
“ Wait. I’ll drive you right up ! ” called Joe.
“ I’ll take your valise. You get right out and run.
Have you a ticket? ”
“ Yes. This is exceedingly good of you. I ”
But he did not finish. Joe drove the horse up
to the platform edge as the train came to a stop
with a grinding of the brake shoes. The man
leaped out almost before the horse had ceased
running, and Joe was not a second behind him
with the valise.
“Go on!” exclaimed the youth, as the man
hesitated. He fairly flung himself up the car
steps* and the train began to move, for Preston
was little more than a flag station for the New
York express.
“'Thank you a thousand times ! ” cried the man
aS^oe handed up the valise. “ I wish — I didn’t
ask' your name — mine is — rl ought to have a card
— I — er ” he began fumbling in his pocket,
and Joe half feared he was going to offer money
14 BASEBALL JOE Al YALE
again. But the man seemed to he hunting for a
However his search was unsuccessful. He
waved his hand to Joe, and called :
“Thank you once more. Perhaps I may meet
you again. I meant to ask your name— too much
occupied — ^mine is——*’ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^
But just then the train gathered speed and the
engineer, opening the exhaust, effectually drowned
out all other sounds in the puffing of the loco-
motive. Joe saw the man’s lips moving, and
realized that he was calling out his name, but he
could not hear it. Then, with a wave of his
hand the stranger went inside th<f 'lar. He had
caught the train just in time.
CHAPTER II
A HOME CONFERENCE
“Well, I wonder If I’ll ever see him again,’*
mused Joe, as the train swung out of sight around
a curve in the track. “It sure was a hustling
time. I wonder who he was ? Seemed like some
sort of an athlete, and yet he didn’t talk sports —
nor much of anything, for that matter.
“I’m glad I could help him get his train.
Funny he should want to pay me, and yet I sup-
pose he isn’t used to having favors done him.
He seemed like a nice sort of fellow. Well, I’ve
got to get over with these patterns. I’ll be late
getting home, I expect.”
Joe’s first visit was to the livery stable, where
he tol3 the proprietor of the accident.
“Hum! Well, I s’pose he was driving reckless
like,” said Mr. Munn, who hired out old horses
and ^der vehicles to such few of the townspeople
as'^d not have their own rigs.
“ No, he was going slowly,” said Joe. “ I guess
that wheel was pretty well rotted.”
“ Mebby so. I’m glad I charged him a good
16 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
price, and made him pay in advance. Yes, I’ll
send out and get the rig. Much obliged to you,
Joe. Did he pay ye for bringin’ him back? ”
“No, I didn’t want anything,” and with this
parting shot the young pitcher went on his way.
And, while he is jogging along to Birchville,
musing over the recent happenings, I will, in a
paragraph or two, tell you something more about
■our hero, since he is to occupy that place in these
pages.
Those of you who have read the previous
books in this series, need no introduction to the
youth. But to those who pick up this volume to
begin their acquaintance, I might state that in the
initial book, called “Baseball Joe of the Silver
Stars,” I related how he first began his upward
climb as a pitcher.
Joe Matson lived with his father and mother,
Mr. and Mrs. John Matson, in the town of River-
side, in one of our New England states. Mr.
Matson was an inventor of farming machinery,
and after a hard struggle was now doing well
financially.
Joe’s ambition, ever since he began to^play
baseball, had been to become a pitcher, and ho'v^he
made the acquaintance of Tom Davis, thc^oy
living back of him; how they became chums, and
how Joe became a member of the Silver Stars nine
is told in my first book.
A HOME CONFERENCE
17
i.
The nine was a typical one, such as is found in
many country towns, though they played good
ball. After an upward struggle Joe was made
pitcher, and helped to win some big games. He
made many friends, and some enemies, as all boys
will.
In the second volume, called “Baseball Joe on
the School Nine,” I told how our hero and his
chum, Tom Davis, went to Excelsior Hall, a
boarding institution just outside of Cedarhurst,
about a hundred miles from Riverside.
At school Joe found that it was more difficult
to get a chance at his favorite position than he
had imagined it would be. There, too, he had his
enemies; but Joe was a plucky fighter, and would
not give up. How finally he was called on to pitch
in a great game, and how he, more than anyone
else, helped to win the Blue Banner, you will find
set down in my second book.
Three years passed, all too quickly, at Excel-
sior Hall, with Joe doing the twirling for the
school nine at all the big games. And now, with
the coming of Fall, and the beginning of the new
term^. he was not to go back, for, as I have inti-
mated, he was to be sent to Yale University.
^e course at Excelsior Hall was four years,
but it was found that at the end of the third Joe
was able to take the Yale entrance examinations,
which he had done successfully. He did not enter
i8 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
with flying colors, for Joe was no great scholar,
but he was by no means at the foot of the ladder.
So he was to plunge at once into the turmoil
of university life — his one regret being, as I have
said, that he could not join the ranks of the pro-
fessional baseball players. But he was willing to
bide his time.
Another regret, too, was that he would be very
much of a stranger at Yale. He did not know a
soul there, and he wished with all his heart that
Tom Davis could have gone with him, as he had
to Excelsior HaU. But Tom’s parents had other
views of life for him.
“ It doesn’t seepi like three years ago that I
first started for Excfelsior,” mused Joe, as he drove
along. “I sure wai nervous then, and I’m in a
worse funk now. Well, there’s no help for it.
I’ve got to stick it out. No use disappointing
dad and momsey. I only hope I make out half
way decently.”
His errand accomplished, he drove back” home,
arriving rather late, and, to his mother’s anxious
inquiries as to what kept him, he related the hap-
pening of the broken carriage.
“And you don’t know who he was?” j^ked
Clara, Joe’s sister, curiously.
“No, sis. Say, but you’re looking pretty to-
night 1 Got your hair fixed differently, somehow.
A HOME CONFERENCE
19
Somebody coming? ” and playfully he pinched her
fed cheeks.
“Yes, Mabel Davis is coming to call,” replied
Clara, pretending to be very busy arranging some
articles on the mantle.
“ Oh, ho ! So that’s bow the wind blows ! ”
exclaimed Joe, with a laugh. “ But I’ll wager
someone besides Mabel is coming over. Tom
Davis told me to come and see him, Mabel is
going out, you’re all togged up — say, sis, who’s
the lucky chap ? ”
“Oh, don’t bother me I” exclaimed the blush-
ing girl.
“ That’s all right. Tom and I will come around
later and put a tic-tac on the window, when you
and Mabel, and the two chaps, Sre> in the parlor.”
“ I thought you had gotten all over such child-
ish tricks — and you a Yale Freshman!” ex-
claimed Clara, half sarcastically,
“Well, I suppose I will have to pass ’em up —
worse, luck!” exclaimed her brother, with some-
thing like a groan. “Have your fun, sis. It’ll
soon be over.”
“ Qh, my ! What a mournful face ! ” laughed
the girl. “ There, run along now, little boy, and
don’-t bother me.”
Joe looked at her for a moment, and the con-
viction grew on him that his sister was prettier
than ever, with that blush on her face.
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
20
“ Little sister is growing up,” thought Joe, as
he turned away. “ She’ll be a young lady soon — •
she’s growing up. Well, I guess we all are,” and
our hero sighed as though he could scarcely bear
the weight of responsibility on his own shoulders^
This was after supper, and as Joe left the room,
and Clara hastened to her apartment, there to in-
dulge in further “ prinking,” as Joe called it, Mr*
and Mrs. Matson looked at each other.
“What’s getting into Joe, I wonder?” spoke
his father. “ He’s acting rather strange of late.”
“ Oh, I expect the responsibility of college life
is making itself felt,” said Mrs. Matson. “ But
I’m proud that I have a son who is going to Yale.
It is good you can afford it, John.”
“Yes, Ellen, I am too. Education is a great
thing, and a college course does a lot for a young
fellow. I never had the chance myself, but per»
haps it’s just as well.”
“ I am determined that Joe shall have all the
advantages we can give him — and Clara, .too,’'
went on the wife. “ I think Joe should be very
proud and happy. In a short time he will be at"
tending one of the best colleges in the world.’i?
“Yet he doesn’t seem very happy,” said Mr.
Matson, musingly.
“ And I wonder why,” went on his wife. “ Of
course I know he wasn’t very keen about going,
when I proposed it, but he gave in. I’m sure iJ >
1
A HOME CONFERENCE
21
baseball that made him want to stay on at Excel-
sior Hall”
“ Probably. Joe eats, sleeps and dreams base-
ball.”
“ I do wish he would get that idea of being a
professional baseball player out of his mind,”
went on Mrs. Matsion, and her tone was a trifle
worried. “ It is no career to choose for a young
man.”
“ No, I suppose not,” said her husband slowly.
“And yet there are many good men in profes-
sional baseball — some rich ones too, I guess,” he
added with a shrewd laugh.
“ As if money counted, John! "
“ Well, it does in a way. We are all working
for it, one way or another, and if a man can earn
it throwing a ball to another man, I don’t see why
that isn’t as decent and honorable as digging
sewers, making machinery, preaching, doctoring,
being a lawyer or a banker. It all helps to make
the world go round.”
“Oh, John! I believe you’re as bad as Joel ”
“ No, Ellen. Though I do like a good game of
baseball. I don’t think it’s the only thing there is,
however, as Joe seems to, of late. I don’t alto-
gether uphold him in his wish to be a professional,
but, at the same time, there’s nothing like getting
into the niche in life that you’re just fitted for.
“There are too many square pegs in round
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
22
holes now. Many a poor preacher would he a
first-class farmer, and lots of struggling lawyers
or doctors would do a sight better in a shop, or,
maybe even on the ball field. Those sentiments
aren’t at all original with me,” he added modestly;
“but they are true just the same. I’d like to see
Joe do what he likes best, for then I know he’d
do that better than anything else in the world.”
“Oh, John! surely you wouldn’t want to see
him a professional ball player?”
“Well, I don’t know. There are lots worse
positions in life.”
“ But I’m glad he’s going to Yale! ” exclaimed
Mrs. Matson, as the little family conference came
to an end.
CHAPTER III
ONE LAST GAME
“Say, Tom, do you know what I’ve got a good
notion to do?”
“ Indeed I haven’t, Joe, unless you’re going to
go out West and shoot Indians, or some such
crazy stunt as that”
“Forget it! But you know I’ve got to start
for Yale in about another week.”
“ That’s right. The time is getting short. Ex-
celsior opens four days from now, but I’m not
going to drill in with the first bunch. I don’t have
to report quite so soon. I’m a Senior now, you
know.”
“ So you are. I almost wish I was with you.”
“ Oh, nonsense ! And you going to Yale ! But
what was it you started to say? ”
“ Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Say, why can’t we
have one last game before we have to leave town?
One rattling good game of baseball to wind up the
season i I’d just love to get into a uniform again,
and I guess you would too. Can’t we pick up
23
24
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
enough of the old Silver Stars to make a nine,
with what we can induce to play from among the
lads in town?”
“ I guess so.”
“ Then let’s do it. The Resolute team is still
in existence, isn’t it? ”
“Yes, but I haven’t kept much track of them.
I’ve been away most all Summer, you know.”
“ And so have I, but I think we could get up
a game for Saturday. I believe we could get quite
a crowd, but we wouldn’t charge admission. What
do you say ? ”
“ I’m with you. It would be sport to have a
game. I wonder how we can arrange for it? ”
“ I’ve got to go over to Rocky Ford for dad to-
day,” went on Joe, “ and I’ll see if I can’t get in
touch with some of the Resolutes. It may be that
they have a game on, and, again, they may have
disbanded. But it’s worth trying. Then you see
as many of the fellows here as you can, and get
up a nine. There ought to be five or six pf the
old Silver Stars around.”
“ I’ll do it! Wow! It will be sport to get on
the diamond again before we have to buckle ^own
to the grind.”
“ I hope I haven’t forgotten how to pitch,”
went on Joe. “ Let’s get a ball and do a little
practising out in the lots.”
The two chums, somewhat older, more experi-
Presb- loB'd of f
ONE LAST GAME 23
enced and certainly better players than when we
first met them, three years before, were soon toss-
ing the ball back and forth, Joe warming up to his
accustomed work as a twirler.
That was a beaut! ” exclaimed Tom, who was
catching.
“ Did the curve break well? ”
“Couldn’t have been better. You’ll fool ’em
all right with that twist.”
“ I’m a little stiff yet. Well, let’s see what we
can do toward getting up a game.”
Joe went to Rocky Ford that afternoon, and
was fortunate in finding the new manager of the
Resolutes, the one-time rivals of the Silver Stars.
The team had greatly changed, and had been
strengthened by some new players. They had not
yet broken up for the season, and, as they had no
game on for Saturday, the manager readily agreed
to come to Riverside with his lads, and take on
the Silver Stars in a sort of exhibition contest.
“ I ’suppose you’ll pitch ? ” spoke the manager,
as Joe W’as about to leave for home.
“Yes, I want to. Why?”
“ Nothing, only maybe we better handicap your
team, or else you’d better allow us half a dozen
runs to start with,” was the laughing answer.
“I’m not as formidable as all that,” retorted
Joe. “ Are any of the old boys playing yet? ”
“ Oh, yes, quite a few. There’s Art Church,
26
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
Lew Entry, Ted Neefus and Hank Armstrong.”
“I’ll be glad to see ’em again,” spoke Joe.
When he reached Riverside late that afternoon
Tom met him and gleefully informed his chum
that he had been able to get up a nine.
“ Then we’ll have a game I ” cried Joe. “ Will
you catch for me?
“ If you think I can.”
“ Sure you can. Wow! We’ll have some fun.”
The news of the coming game between the Sil-
ver Stars — or a team somewhat representing them
— and the Resolutes aroused considerable enthus-
iasm in Riverside and the neighboring towns.
There was a prospect of a large throng, and
when Saturday came- — ^with as fine a specimen of
weather as heart could wish — there was a great
outpouring of “ fans.”
The Silver Stars were first on the field, and
Aough Ae team as then constituted had never
played together, still after a little practice they
got acquainted wiA each other, and were soon
working in unison.
Joe and Tom formed the battery, and they
seemed an effective combination as Aey wSrmed
up outside the diamond. Then the Resolutes ar-
rived and Aey, too, began their practice.
“We’re going to have a big crowd,” remarked
Joe, as he saw the stands filling, for Riverside
boasted of a fairly good field, where the serai-
ONE LAST GAME
27
profesional team held forth In the Summer. But
the season was about over now.
“ It’s like old times,” remarked Tom. “ Come
on, now some hot ones to finish up with, and then
it’ll be most time to call the game.”
The details were arranged, the umpire chosen,
the batting orders submitted, and the teams came
in off the field. The Silver Stars were to bat last,
and as Joe walked out to the mound to do the
twirling, he was greeted by many friends and ac-
quaintances who had not seen him since the Sum-
mer vacation had started. Some news of his
prospective leaving for Yale must have gotten
around, for he was observed with curious, and
sometimes envious eyes.
“Joe’s getting to be quite a boy,” remarked
Mr. Jacob Anderson, one of Riverside’s enthu-
siastic baseball supporters, to his friend, Mr.
James Blake.
“ Yes, he’s a wonderful pitcher, I hear. Seems
sort of» queer how the boys grow up. Why, only
a few years ago he was a small chap, playing
around the vacant lots.”
“ Yos, time does manage to scoot along,” spoke
the other. “ Well, T guess we’ll see a good game,”
As Joe and f o;n paused for a brief consulta-
tion before opening the performance, the catcher,
glancing toward the grandstand, uttered a sutw
prised exclamation.
b8 baseball joe at YALE
“What’s the matter?” asked Joe.
“That fellow with my sister — I meant to tell
you about him. He was over to your house the
other night, when he and sis, and Charlie Master-
ford called on your sister.”
“Oh, hoi So it was Charlie that Clara was
fixing up for! ” exclaimed Joe. “ I’ll have some
fun with her. I guess she’s at the game to-day.
But what about the fellow with your sister? ”
“He’s a Yale man.”
“A Yale man — yon mean a graduate?”
“No, he goes there now — Sophomore I heard
sis say. She was boasting about him, but I didn’t
pay much attention. I meant to tell you, but I for-
got it.”
“A Yale man,” mused Joe.
“Yes, that’s him, with the flower in his coat.
Sort of a sport I guess. Sis said he was on the
nine, but I don’t know where he plays. Like to
meet him ? I don’t know him myself, but I can
get sis to present us. She met him at som^ dance
this Summer, and found he had relatives here he
intended to visit. She asked him to call — say,
isn’t it great how the girls do that? — and h# did —
the other night. Then he mi’st have made a date
with her. Like to meet him ? Name’s — let’s see
now — I did have it. Oh, I remember, it’s Wes-
ton — Ford Weston. Want to meet him after the
game?”
ONE LAST GAME
2gl
“No— I—I don’t believe I do,” said Joe
slowly. “He may think I am sort of currying
favor. I’ll wait until I get to Yale, and then, if
I get the chance, I’ll meet him. He looks like a
decent chap.”
“Yes, Mabel Is crazy about him,” said Tom;
“but all girls are that way I guess. None for
mine! Well, shall we start? ”
The batter was impatiently tapping his stick on
the home plate.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and, as Joe
walked to his place he gave a glance toward w'here
Mabel Davis sat with a tall, good-looking chap.
“A Yale man,” mused Joe, “ and on the nine.
I wonder what he’U think of my pitching? ” and,
somehow, our hero felt a bit nervous, and he
wished he had not known of the presence of the
collegian. As he began winding up to deliver the
ball he fancied he detected an amused smile on the
face of Ford Weston.
CHAPTER rV
A SNEERING LAUGH
“ Come on now, Art ! Line one out ! ”
“A home run, old man I You can do itf ”
“ Slam one over the fence 1 ”
“Poke it to the icehouse and come walking 1 ”
“We’ve got the pitcher’s goat already! Don’t
mind him, even if he is going to college ! ”
These were only a few of the good-natured
cries that greeted Art Church as he stood at the
home plate, waiting for Joe Matson to deliver the
ball. And, in like manner, Joe was gently gibed
by his opponents, some of whom had not faced
him in some time. To others he was an unknown
quantity.
But even those newest members of the Reso-
lutes had heard of Joe’s reputation, and theBe was
not a little of the feeling in the visiting nine that
they were doomed to defeat through the opposing
pitcher.
“ Come on now. Art, it’s up to you.”
A SNEERING LAUGH
31
“ Give him a fair chance, Joe, and he’ll knock
the cover off ! ”
“Play balll” snapped the umpire, and Joe,
who had been exchanging the regulation practice
balls with the catcher signalled that he was ready
to deliver the first one of the game. The catcher
called for a slow out, but Joe shook his head.
He knew Art Church of old, and remembered
that this player fairly “ ate ’em up.” Joe gave the
signal to Tom that he would send a swift in-shoot,
and his chum nodded comprehendingly.
“Ball one! ” yelled the umpire, and Joe could
not restrain a start of surprise. True, Art had
not swung at the borsehide, but it had easily
clipped the plate, and, Joe thought, should have
been called a strike. But he said nothing, and,
delivering the same sort of a ball the next time,
he had the satisfaction of deceiving the batter,
who swung viciously at it.
“ He’s only trying you out 1 ” was shouted at
Joe. •“ He’ll wallop the next one! ”
But Art Church did not, and waiting in vain
for what he considered a good ball, he struck at
the rsext and missed, while the third strike was
called on him without his getting a chance to move
his bat.
“ Oh, I guess the umpire isn’t against us after
all,” thought Joe, as he threw the ball over to
first while the next batter was coming up.
32
BASEBALE JOE AT YALE
“ How’s that? ” yelled Tom in delight. “ Guess
there aren’t going to be any home runs for you
Resolutes.”
“ Oh, it’s early yet,” answered the visiting cap-
tain.
But the Resolutes were destined to get no runs
in that half-inning. One man popped up a little
fly, which was easily taken care of, and the next
man Joe struck out cleanly.
He was beginning to feel that he was getting
in form again. All that Spring he had jpitched
fine games at Excelsior Hall, but, during the Sum-
mer vacation, at the close of the boarding school,
he had gone a bit stale. He could feel it himself.
His muscles were stiff from lack of use, and he
had not the control of the ball, which was one of
his strong points. Neither could he get up the
speed which had always been part of his assets,
and which, in after years, made him such a power
in the big league.
Still Joe felt that he was doing fairly weU, and
he knew that, as the game went on, and he warmed
up, he would do better.
“We ought to win,” he told Tom Davs, as
they walked to the bench. “That is if we get
any kind of support, and if our fellows can hit
their pitcher. What sort of a chap is he?”
“ Don’t know much about him. He’s been at it
all Summer though, and ought to be in pretty good
A SNEERING LAUGH
33
practice. We’ll soon tell. Len Oswald is first
up.”
But that was all Len did — get up. He soon
sat down again, not having hit the ball.
“Oil, I guess we’ve got some pitcher!” yelled
the Resolutes.
“Even if he isn’t going to college!” added
someone, and Joe felt his face burn. He was
not at ail puffed up over the fact that he was
going to Yale, and he disliked exceedingly to get
that reputation — so unjustly. But he did not
protest.
When the second man went out without getting
to first base, it looked as if the contest was going
to be a close one, and there began to be whispers
of a “pitchers’ battle.”
“ ‘ Pitchers’ battle ’ nothing! ” exclaimed Joe in
a whisper to Tom. “ That fellow can’t curve a
ball. I’ve been watching him. He’s got a very
fast straight delivery, and that’s how he’s fooling
’em. “I’m going to hit him, and so can the rest of
us if we don’t let him bluff. Just stand close up
to the plate and plug it Who comes next?”
“ Percy Parnell.”
“Oh, wow! Well, unless he’s improved a
whole lot he won’t do much.”
But Percy had, for the next moment he got the
ball just where he wanted it, and slammed it out
for a three bagger amid enthusiastic howls. Then
34
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
the other Silver Star players became aware of the
opposing pitcher’s weakness and began hif ing
him, until three runs had come in. Then, ii, re-
sponse to the frantic appeals of the “ rooturs ”
and their own captain, the Resolutes took a brace
and halted the winning streak. But it had b«gun,
and nothing could stop it.
Joe, much elated that his diagnosis of his op-
ponent had been borne out, again took his place
in the box. He determined to show what he could
do in the way of pitching, having done some warm-
ing-up work with Tom during the previous inning.
He struck out the first man cleanly, and the
second likewise. The third hit him for two fouls,
and then, seeming to have become familiar with
Joe’s style, whacked out one that was good for
two bases.
“We’re finding him! We’re finding him!”
yelled the excited Resolutes. “ Only two down,
and we’ve got a good hitter coming.”
Joe saw that his fellow players were getting a
little “ rattled,” fearing perhaps that he was go-
ing to pieces, so, to delay the game a moment, and
pull himself together, he walked toward home,
and pretended to have a little conference with the
catcher.
In reality they only mumbled meaningless
words, for Tom knew Joe’s trick of old. But the
little break seemed to have a good effect, for the
A SNEERING LAUGH
35
young pitcher struck out the next man and no runs
came in.
“ Oh, I guess yes ! ” cried the Silver Star crowd.
The home team got two runs the next inning,
and with goose eggs in their opponents’ frame it
began to look more like a onei-sided contest.
“ Boys, we’ve got to wallop ’em 1 ” exclaimed
the visiting captain earnestly, as they once more
came to bat.
Joe’s arm was beginning to feel the unaccus-
tomed strain a trifle, and to limber up the muscles
he “ wound-up ” with more motions and elabor-
ateness than usual as he again took the mound.
As he did so he heard from the grandstand a loud
laugh — a laugh that fairly bubbled over with
sneering, caustic mirth, and a voice remarked,
loud enough for our hero to hear:
“ I wonder where he learned that wild and
weird style of pitching? He’ll fall all apart if he
doesn’t look out! ”
He cast a quick glance in the direction of the
voice and saw Ford Weston, who sat beside
Mabel Davis, fairly doubled up with mirth.
Mabfl seemed to be remonstrating with him.
“ Don’t break your arm 1 ” called Ford, laugh-
ing harder than before.
“ Hush! ” exclaimed Mabel.
Joe felt the dull red of shame and anger mount-
ing to his cheeks.
36 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“So that’s a Yale man,” he thought. “And
I’m going to Yale. I wonder if they’re all like
that there? I — I hope not.”
And, for the life of him, Joe could not Itelp
feeling a sense of anger at the youth who had so
, sneeringly laughe'4 at him.
“And he’*" 8 Yale man — and on the nine,”
mused Joe.
CHAPTER V
^ OFF FOR, YALE '
^‘We^ye got the game in the refrigerator — on
® 5 )
ice.
“Take it easy now, Silver Stars.”
“ Let ’em get a few runs if they want to.”
Thus spoke some of the spectators, and a num-
ber of the members of the home team, as the last
half of the seventh inning started with the score
ten to three in favor of the Silver Stars. It had
not been a very tight contest on either side, and
errors v/ere numerous. Yet, In spite of the sneer-
ing laugh of the Yale man, Joe knew that he had
pitched a good game. They had hit him but sel-
dom, and one run was due to a muffed ball by the
centre fielder.
“Well, I guess you haven’t forgotten how to
pitch,” exulted Tom, as he sat beside his chum on
the bench.
Behind them, and over their heads, sat the
spectators in the grandstand, and when the ap-
plause at a sensational catch just made by the left
38 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
fielder, retiring the third man, had died away the
voices of many in comment on the game could be
heard.
“ Oh, I’m not so very proud of myself,” re-
marked Joe. “ I can see lots of room for im-,
provement. But I’m all out of practice. I think,
I could have held ’em down better if we’d had a'
few more games to back us up.”
“ Sure thing. Well, this is a good way to wind
up the season. I heard a little while ago that the
Resolutes came over here to make mince-meat of
us. They depended a whole lor on their pitcher,
but you made him look like thirty cents.”
“ Oh, I don’t know. He’s got lots of speed,
and if he had the benefit of the coaching we got
at Excelsior Hall he’d make a dandy.”
“ Maybe. I’m going over here to have a chin
with Rodney Burke. I won’t be up for a good
while.”
“And I guess I won’t get a chance this inning,”
remarked Joe, as he settled back on the ‘"bench.
As he did so he was aware of a conversation go-
ing on in the stand over his head.
“And you say he’s going to Yale this ferm?”^
asked someone — a youth’s deep-chested tones.
“I believe so — yes,” answered a girl. Joe
recognized that Mabel Davis was speaking.
“ He’s a chum of my brother’s,” she went on.
“They’re talking of me,” thought Joe, and he
OFF FOR YALE
39
looked apprehensively at his companions on the
bench, but they seemed to be paying no attention
to him, for which he was grateful. They were
absorbed in the game.
“Going to Yale; eh?” went on the youth’s
i voice, and Joe felt sure he was Ford Weston.
“Well, we eat his kind up down there! ”
“Hush! You musn’t talk so of my friends,”
warned Mabel, and yet she laughed.
“ Oh, if he’s a friend of yours, that’s difFerent;”
came the retort. “You’re awful strong with me,
Mabel, and I’d do anything you asked.”
The girl laughed in a pleased sort of way, and
Joe, with a wild feeling in his heart, felt a certain
scorn for both of them.
“ Yes, he and my brother are chums,” resumed
Mabel. “ They went to boarding school together,
but Joe is going to Yale. He is just crazy about
baseball — in fact Tom is, too, but Joe wants to be
a great pitcher.”
“ Does he think he’s going to pitch at Yale? ”
“ I believe he does ! ”
“ Then he’s got a whole lot more thinks com-
ing! ” Jkughed the Yale man. “He’s about the
craziest specimen of a tosser I ever stacked up
against. He’ll never make the Yale scrub! ”
“Hush! Haven’t I told you not to talk so
about my friend? ” insisted the girl, but there was
still laughter in her tones.
40
baseball joe at YALE
“All right Miss Mabel. I’ll do anything you
sav Wow! That was a pretty hit all right.
Go'it oldmanl A three-bagger I and m the en-
toLmover the game the Yale man dropped
Joe as a topic of conversation.
Our hero, with burning cheeks, got up and
strolled away. He had heard too rnuch, but he
was glad they did not know he had unintentionally
been listening. .
The game ended with the Silver Stars dinners,
but the score was not as close as seemed like y m
the seventh inning. For the Resolutes, most un-
Btpectedly. began hitting Joe though he managed
to pull himself together m the ninA, and retir
his opponents hitless. The last ^ larrin
was not played, as the home team had a g
of two runs. , _ v j
“ Well, we did ’em,” remarked Tom, as he and
Joe walked off the field. “ But they sort of pulled
UP on us. Did they get on to your curves f
“No,” spoke Joe listlessly. “I — er I got a
little tired I guess.” _ T>„f vnn
“No wonder. You’re not in trim. But you
stiffened up at the last.”
“ Oh yes,” but Joe knew it was not weariness
that accounted for his being hit so often. It was
because of an inward rage, a sense of shame, and,
be it confessed, a bit of fear. ^ , , i •
For well he knew how little it would take, in
Received 'f Of’’
READER’S SEHV
OFF
such a college as Yale, to make or mar a man.
Should he come, heralded perhaps by the un-
friendly tongue of the lad who had watched him
pitch that day — heralded as one with a “ swelled
head” — as one who thought himself a master-
) pitcher — ^Joe knew he could never live it down.
“ ril never get my chance— the chance for the
Varsity — if he begins to talk,” mused Joe, and for
a time he was miserable.
“ Come on over to grub,” invited Tom. “Sis
and her latest find will be there — that Yale chap.
Maybe you’d like to meet him. If you don’t we
can sneak in late and there’ll be some eats left.”
“ No, thanks, I don’t believe I will,” replied
Joe listlessly.
“Don’t you want to meet that Yale fellow?
Maybe he could give you some points.”
“ No, I’d rather not.”
“ All right,” assented Tom quickly. Something
in his chum’s tones made him wonder what was
the matter, but he did not ask.
“ I’ve got some packing to do,” went on Joe,
conscious that he was not acting very cordially to-
ward his old schoolmate. “ I may see you later.”
“ Sure, any time. I’ll be on hand to see you off
for Yale, old man.”
“Yale!” whispered Joe, as he swung off to-
ward his own home, half-conscious of the pointing
fingers and whispered comments of a number of
42
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
street urchins who were designating him as “ dat’s
de pitchin’ guy what walloped de Resolutes ! ”
“ Yale I ” thought Joe. “ I’m beginning to hate
it!”
And then a revulsion of feeling suddenly came '
over him.
“ Hang it all ! ” he exclaimed as he stumbled
along. “This is no way for a fellow to feel if
he’s going to college. I’ve got to perk up. If
I am to go to Yale, I’m going to do my best to
be worth it! ”
But something rankled in his heart, and, try as
he might he could not help clenching his teeth and
gripping his hands as he thought of Ford Weston.
“I — I’d like to fight him!” murmured Joe.
“ I wonder if they allow fights at Yale? ”
Several days later you might have heard this in I
the Matson home.
“Well, Joe, have you got everything packed? ”
“ Don’t forget to send me a flag.” i
“ You’ve got your ticket all right, haven’tyou ? ”
“Write as soon as you get there.”
“ And whatever you do, don’t go around with
wet feet. It’s coming on Winter now *”
“Mother! Mother!” broke in Mr. Matson,
with a laugh at his wife and daughter on either
side of Joe, questioning and giving advice by turns.
“ You’re like hens with one chicken. Don’t coddle
him so. He’s been away before, and he’s getting
OFF FOR YALE
43
big enough to know his way around by this time.”
Well might he say so, for Joe had grown fast
in the past three years, and, though but nineteen,
was taller than his father, who was not a small
man.
“ Of course he’s been away,” agreed Mrs. Mat-
son, “but not as far as New Haven, and going to
Yale is some different from Excelsior Hall, I
guess.”
“ I know so,” murmured Joe, with a wink at his
father.
“ I’m going to the station with you,” declared
Clara. “ Here comes Tom. I guess he’s going,
too.”
“ Well, I’ll say good-bye here,” said Mrs. Mat-
son, and her voice trembled a little. “ Good-bye,
my boy. I know you’ll do what’s right, and make
us all proud of you 1 ”
Joe’s answer was a kiss, and then, with her
handkerchief much in evidence, Mrs. Matson left
the roofti.
“ Come I Come 1 ” laughed Mr. Matson.
“ You’ll make Joe sorry he’s going if you keep on.”
“ The** only thing I’m sorry about,” replied the
lad, “ is that it’ll be a good while until Spring.”
“ Baseball ; eh? ” queried his father. “ Well, I
suppose you’ll play if you get the chance. But, Joe,
just remember that life isn’t all baseball, though
44
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
that has its place In the scheme of things. You’re
not going to Yale just to play baseball.”
“ But, if I get a chance, I’m going to play my
head off 1 ” exclaimed the lad, and, for the first
time in some days there came a fierce light of joy
into his eyes.
“That’s the spirit, son,” exclaimed Mr. Mat-
son. “ And just remember that, while you want to
win, it isn’t the only point in the game. Always be
a gentleman — play hard; but play clean! That’s
all the advice I’m going to give you,” and with a
shake of his hand the inventor followed his wife
from the room.
“ Well, I guess I’m going to be left alone to do
the honors,” laughed Clara. “ Come on now, it’s
almost train time. Oh, hello, Tom! ” she added,
as Joe’s chum entered. “ Did you bring any extra
handkerchiefs with you?”
“ Say I’ll pull your hairpins out, Clara, if you
don’t quit fooling! ” threatened her brother.
Joe’s baggage, save for a small valise, Ivad been!
sent on ahead, and now, calling a good-bye to his
parents, but not going to them, for he realized that
it would only make his mother cry more, the young
collegian, escorted by his sister and chum, started
for the station.
Our hero found a few of his friends gathered
there, among them Mabel Davis,
“And so you’re off for Yale,” she remarked,
OFF FOR YALE
45
ind Joe noticed that she too, like his sister, seemed
to have “grown up ” suddenly in the last year.
Mabel was quite a young lady now.
“Yes, I’m off,” replied Joe, rather coldly.
“ Oh, I think it’s just grand to go to a big col-
lege,” went on Mabel. “ I wish papa would let
Tom go.”
“I wish so myself,” chimed in her brother.
“I know one Yale man,” went on Mabel. “I
met him this Summer. He was at the game the
■other day. I could write to him, and tell him you
are coming.”
“ Please don’t! ” exclaimed Joe so suddenly that
Mabel drew back, a little offended.
“Wa’al, I want to shake hands with you, an’
wish you all success,” exclaimed a voice at Joe’s
elbow. He turned to see Mr. Ebenezer Peterkin,
a neighbor. “ So you’re off for college. I hear
they’re great places for football and baseball I Ha !
Ha 1 ’^ember th’ time you throwed a ball through
our winder, and splashed Alvirah’s apple sass all
over her clean stove? ’Member that, Joe? ”
“ Indeed I do, Mr. Peterkin. And how you told
Tom and me to hurry off, as your wife was coming
afterus.”
“ That’s right! Ha ! Ha ! Alvirah was consider-
able put out that day. She’d just got her stove
blacked, an’ that sass was some of her best. Th’
46 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
ball landed plump into it I ’Member? ” and again
the old man chuckled with mirth.
“ I remember,” laughed Joe. “ And how Tom
and I blackened the stove, and helped clean up the
kitchen for your wife. I was practising pitching
that day.”
“ Oh, yes, you pitched all right,” chuckled the
aged man. “Wa’al, Joe, I wish you all sorts of
luck, an’ if you do pitch down there at Yale, don’t
go to splattering no apple sass ! ”
“ I won’t,” promised the lad.
There were more congratulations, more wishes
for success, more hand shakings and more good-
byes, and then the whistle of the aproaching train
was heard. Somehow Joe could not but remem-
ber the day he had driven the man to the station
just in time to get his train. He wondered if he
would ever see that individual again.
“Good-bye, Joel”
“ So long, old man I ”
“ Don’t forget to write 1 ” *■
“Play ball I”
“Good-bye, Joel”
Laughter, cheers, some tears too, but not many,
waving hands, and amid all this Joe entered the
train. He waved back as long as he could see any
of them, and then he settled back in his seat.
He was off for Yale — for Yale, with all its tra-
ditions, its mysteries, Its learning and wiseness, its
OFF FOR YALE
A?
sports and games, its joys and sorrows — Its heart-
burnings and its delights, its victories — and de-
feats! Off for Yale. Joe felt his breath choking
him, and into his eyes there came a mist as he
gazed out of the window. Off for Yale — and
baseball!
CHAPTER VI
ON THE CAMPUS
Joe Matson gazed about him curiously as the
train drew into the New Haven station. He won-
dered what his first taste of Yale life was going
to be like, and he could not repress a feeling of
nervousness.
He had ridden in the end car, and he was not
prepared for what happened as the train drew
to a slow stop. For from the other coaches there
poured a crowd of students — many Freshmen like
himself but others evidently Sophomores, and a
sprinkling of Juniors and the more lordly Seniors.
Instantly the place resounded to a din, as friends
met friends, and as old acquaintances were re-
newed.
“Hello, Slab!”
“ Where have you been keeping yourself. Pork
Chops!”
“ By Jinks ! There’s old Ham Fat ! ”
“ Come on, now 1 Qet in line ! ”
This from one tall lad to others, evidently from
ON THE CAMPUS
49
the same preparatory school. “Show ’em what
we can do ! ”
“ Hi there, Freshies I Off with those hats 1 ”
This from a crowd of Sophomores who saw the
newly-arrived first-year lads.
“ Don’t you do itl Keep your lids on ! ”
“ Oh, you will!” and there was a scrimmage in
which the offending headgear of many was sent
spinning. Joe began to breathe deeply and fast.
If this was a taste of Yale life he liked it. Some-
what Excelsior Hail it was, but bigger — ^broader.
Gripping his valise, he climbed down the steps,
stumbling in his eagerness. On all sides men
crowded around him and the others who were
alighting.
“Kebl Carriage! Hack! Take your bag-
gage!”
Seeing others doing the same, Joe surrendered
his valise to an insistent man. As he moved out
of the press, wondering how he was to get to the
house where he had secured a room, he heard
someone behind him fairly yell in his ear:
“ Ok ho I Fresh ! Off with that hat ! ”
He turned to see two tall, well-dressed lads,
in somewhat “ swagger ” clothes, arms linked,
walking close behind him. Remembering the fate
of the others, Joe doffed his new derby, and
smiled.
50
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“That’s right,” complimented the taller of tht
two Sophomores.
“ Glad you think so,” answered Joe.
“ Well? ” snapped the other Sophomore sharp-
k-
“ Glad you think so,” repeated our hero.
“ Well? ” rasped out the first.
Joe looked from one to the other in some be-
wilderment. He knew there was some catch, and
that he had not answered catagorically, but for
the moment he forgot.
“ Put the handle on,” he was reminded, and
then it came to him. .
“ Sir,” he added with a smile.
“ Right, Freshie. Don’t forget your manners
next time,” and the two went swinging along, roll-
ing out the chorus of some class song.
The confusion increased. More students poured
from the train, overwhelming the expressmen with
their demands and commands. The hacks and
carriages were being rapidly filled. Order# were
being shouted back and forth. Exuberance was
on every side.
“ Oh ho ! This way, Merton ! ” yelled someone,
evidently a signal for the lads from that school
to assemble.
“ Over here. Lisle! ”
“There’s Perk!”
“Yes, and who’s he got with him?”
ON THE CAMPUS
SI
“ Oh, some Fresh. Come oh, you goat. I’m
hungry!”
Joe felt himself exulting, after all, that he was
to be a part of this throbbing, pulsating life — part
of the great college. He hung back, friendless
and alone, and it was borne on him with a rush
just how friendless and alone he was when he saw
so many others greeted by friends and mates.
With all his heart Joe wished he had come up
from some preparatory school, where he would
have had classmates with him. But it was too latfe
now.
He made up his mind that he would walk to
his rooming house, not because he wanted to save
the carriage hire, but he would have to get in a
hack all alone, and he was afraid of the gibes and
taunts that might be hurled at the lone Freshman.
He had engaged the room in advance, and knew
it would be in readiness. Later he intended to
join one of the many eating clubs for his meals,
but for the present he expected to patronize a
restaurant, for the rooming house did not pro-
vide commons.
“ rn walk,” decided Joe, and, inquiring the way
from a friendly hackman, he started off. As he
did so he was aware of a tall lad standing near
him, and, at the mention of the street Joe desig-
nated, this lad started, and seemed about to speak.
For a moment Joe, noticing that he, too', waa
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
Sa
alone, was tempted to address him. And then,
being naturally diffident, and in this case particu-
larly so, he held back.
“ He may be some stand-offish chap,” reasoned
Joe, “ and won’t like It. I’ll go a bit slow.”
He swung away from the station, glad to be
out of the turmoil, but for a time it followed him,
the streets being filled with students afoot and in
vehicles. The calling back and forth went on,
until, following the directions he had received, Joe
turned down a quieter thoroughfare.
“ That must be the college over there,” he said
after he had swung across the city common, and
saw looming up in the half mist of the early Sep-
tember night, the piles of brick and stone. “ Yale
College — and I’m going there ! ”
He paused for a moment to contemplate the
structures, and a wave of sentimental feeling
surged up into his heart. He saw the outlines of
the elms — the great elms of Yale.
Joe passed on, and, as he walked, wondering
what lay before him, he could not help but think
of the chances — the very small chances he^^had —
in all that throng of young men — to make the
’varsity nine.
“ There are thousands of fellows here,” mused
Joe, “ and all of them may be as good as I. Of
course not all of them want to get on the nine —
ON THE CAMPUS
I and fewer want to pitch. But — Oh, I wonder if I
can make it? I wonder ”
It was getting late. He realized that he had
I better go to his room, and see about supper. Then
in the morn'ng would come reporting at college
and arranging about his lectures — and the hun-
dred and one things that would follow.
“ I guess I’ve got time enough to go over and
I take a look at the place,” he mused. “ I can hike
I it a little faster to ray shack after I take a peep,”
i he reasoned. “ I just want to see what I’m going
: to stack up against.”
He turned -and started toward the stately build-
ings in the midst of the protecting elms. Other
students passed him, talking and laughing, gibing
one another. All of them in groups — not one
. alone as was Joe. Occasionally they called to him
I as they passed :
I “ Off with that hat. Fresh I ”
He obeyed without speaking, and all the while
the loiieliness in his heart was growing, until it
[ seemed to rise up like some hard lump and choke
him.
“ But I won’t 1 I won’t! ” he told himself des-
perately. “ I won’t give in. I’ll make friends
soon! Oh, if only Tom were here! "
i He found himself on the college campus. Paus-
ing for a moment to look about him, his heart well-
ing, he heard someone coming from the rear. In-
54 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
stinctively he turned, and in the growing dusk he
thought he saw a familiar figure.
“ Off with that hat, Fresh I ” came the sharp
command.
Joe was getting a little tired of it, but he real-
ized that the only thing to do was to obey.
“All right,” he said, listlessly.
"All right, what?” was snapped back at him.
For a moment Joe did not answer.
“Come on, Fresh!” cried the other, taking a
step toward him. “ Quick — all right — ^what? ”
“ Sir 1 ” ripped out Joe, as he turned away.
A moment later from a distant window there
shone a single gleam of light that fell on the face
of the other lad. Joe started as he beheld the
countenance of Ford Weston — the youth who had
laughed at his pitching.
“That’s right,” came in more mollified tones
from the Sophomore. “ Don’t forget your man-
ners at Yale, Fresh I Or you may be taught ’em
in a way you won’t like,” and with an easy^alr of
assurance, and an insuldng, domineering swagger,
Weston took himself off across* the campus.
CHAPTER VII
A NEW CHUM
For a moment Joe stood there, his heart pound-
ing away under his ribs, uncertain what to do-
wondering if the Sophomore had recognized him.
Then, as the other gave no sign, but continued on
his way, whistling gaily, Joe breathed easier.
“ The cad 1 ” he whispered. “ I’d like to — ^to
” He paused. He remembered that he was
at Yale—that he was a Freshman and that he was
supposed to take the insults of those above him —
of the youth who had a year’s advantage over him
in point of time.
“Yes, I’m a Freshman,” mused Joe, half bit-
terly. , “ I’m supposed to take it all — to grin and
bear it — for the good of my soul and conscience,
and so that I won’t get a swelled head. Well,”
he corv:luded with a whimsical smile, “ I guess
there’s no danger.”
He looked after the retreating figure of the
Sophomore, now almost lost In the dusk that en-
shrouded the campus, and then he laughed softly.
“ After all ! ” he exclaimed, “ it’s no more than
55
56
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
I’ve done to the lads at Excelsior Hall. I thought
it was right and proper then, and I suppose these
fellows do here. Only, somehow, it hurts. I- — •!
guess I’m getting older. I can’t appreciate these
things as I used to. After all, what is there to it?
There’s too much class feeling and exaggerated
notion about one’s importance. It isn’t a man’s
game — though it may lead to it. I’d rather be
out — standing on ray own feet.
“ Yes, out playing the game with men — the real
game — I want to get more action than this,” and
he looked across at the college buildings, now al-
most deserted save for a professor or two, or
small groups of students who were wandering
about almost as disconsolately as was Joe himself.
“Oh, well!” he concluded. “I’m here, and
I’ve got to stay at least for mother’s sake, and I’ll
do the best I can. I’ll grin and bear it. It won’t
be long until Spring, and then I’ll see if I can’t
make good. I’m glad Weston didn’t recognize me.
It might have made it worse. But he’s boflnd to
know, sooner or later, that I’m the fellow he saw
pitch that day, and, if he’s like the rest of ’em I
suppose he’ll have the story all over college.'' Well,
I can’t help it.” And with this philosophical re-
flection Joe turned and made his way toward his
rooming house.
It was a little farther than he had thought, and
he was a bit sorry he had not selected one nearer
A ' ' ' 57
the college. There were too many students to
permit all of them to dwell in the dormitories
proper, and many sought residences in boarding
places and in rooming houses, and dined at stu-
dents’ clubs.
“ I suppose I’ll have to hunt up some sort of
an eating joint,” mused Joe, as he plodded along.
“ I’d be glad to get in with some freshmen who
like the baseball game. It’ll be more sociable. I’ll
have to be on the lookout.”
As he rang the bell of the house corresponding
in number to the one he had selected as his room-
ing place, the door was cautiously opened a trifle,
the rattling of a chain showing that it was secure
against further swinging. A rather husky voice
asked :
“Well?”
Joe looked, and saw himself being regarded by
a pair of not very friendly eyes, while a tousled
head of hair was visible in the light from a hall
lamp that streamed from behind it.
“ I — er — I believe I’m to room here,” went
on Joe. “ Matson is my name. I’m a Fresh-
man — ® — ”
“ Oh, that’s all right. Come in ! ” and the tone
was friendly at once. “ I thought it was some of
those sneaking Sophs., so I had the chain on.
Come in ! ” and the portal was thrown wide, while
Joe’s hand was caught in a firm grip.
58 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Are you — er— do you run this place ?” asked
Joe.
“ Not yet, but Fra going to do my best at it as
soon as I get wise to the ropes. You can help—
you look the right stuff.”
“Aren’t you the — er — the proprietor? ” asked
our hero, rather puzzled for the right word.
“Not exactly,” was the reply, “but Fm going
to be one of ’em soon. Hanover is my name —
Ricky Hanover they used to call me at Tampa.
Fll allow you the privilege. Fm a Fresh, like your-
self. I’m going to room here. Arrived yester-
day. I’ve got a room on the first floor, near the
door, and It’s going to be so fruity for those Sophs,
to rout me out that I got a chain and put it on.
The old man said he didn’t care.”
“ The old man? ” queried Joe.
“Yes, Hopkins, Hoppy for short — the fellow
that owns this place — he and his wife.”
“ Oh, yes, the people from whom I engaged my
room,” spoke Joe understandingly. “ I think Fm
on the second floor,” he went on.
“Wrong guess — come again,” said Ricljy Han-
over with a grin, as he carefully replaced the chain.
“There’s been a wing shift, so Mrs. Hoppy told
me. She’s expecting you, but she’s put you down-
stairs, in a big double room next to mine. Hope
you won’t mind. Your trunk is there, and your
. r i? ’ ''
A NEW CHt#^
Boani oi forr.lV’
59
valise just came — at least I think it’s yours —
M. onit.”
“Yes, that’s mine.”
“ I had it put in for you.”
“Thanks.”
“ Come on, and I’ll show you the ropes, tu.
those Sophs, come ”
“Are they likely to?” asked Joe, scenting the
joy of a battle thus early in his career.
“They might. Someone tried to rush the door
just before you came, but the chain held and I gave
’em the merry ha-ha ! But they’ll be back — we’ll
get ours and we’ll have to take it.”
“ I suppose so. Well, I don’t mind. I’ve been
through it before.”
“That so? Where are you from?”
“ Excelsior Hall.”
“Never heard of it. That’s nothing. I don’t
s’pose you could throw a stone and hit Tampa
School?”
“Prbbably not,” laughed Joe, forming an in-
stinctive liking for this new chap.
“ Right. Tampa hardly knows it’s on the map,
but it isn’t a half bad place. Ah, here’s Mamma
Hoppy now. You don’t mind if I call you that;
do you?” asked Ricky, as a motherly-looking
woman advanced down the hall toward the two
lads.
“ Oh, I guess I’ve been at this long enough not
6o
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
to mind a little thing like that,” she laughed.
“You college men can’t bother me as long as you
don’t do anything worse than that. Let me see,
this is ”
“Matson, ma’am,” spoke our hero. “ Joe Mat-
son. I wrote to you ■”
“ Oh, yes, I remember. I have quite a number
of new boys coming in. I’m sorry, but the room
I thought I could let you have isn’t available. The
ceiling fell to-day, so I have transferred you down-
stairs. It’s a double room, and I may have to put
someone in with you. If you think ”
Oh, that’s all right,” interrupted Joe good*
naturedly, “ I don’t mind. I’ll be glad to have a
room-mate.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Hopkins, in relieved
tones. “ I can’t say just now who it will be.”
“ Never mind! ” broke in Ricky. “ Have you
grubbed ? ”
‘No,” replied the newcomer. “ I was think-
ing of going to a restaurant.” ^
“ Come along then. I’m with you. I haven’t
fed my face yet. We’ll go down to Glory’s place
and see the bunch.” ^
Joe recognized the name as that of a famous
New Haven resort, much frequented by the col-
lege lads, and, while I have not used the real des-
ignation, and while I shall use fictitious names for
other places connected with die college, those who
A NEW CHUM
know their Yale will have no difficulty in rccogniz--
ing them.
“ Come on to Glory’s,” went on Ricky. “ It’s?
a great joint.”
“Wait until I slip on a clean collar,” suggested
Joe, and a little later he and Ricky were tramp-
ing along the streets, now agleam with electric
lights, on their way to the famous resort.
It was filled with students, from lordly Seniors,
who scarcely noticed those outside of their class,
to the timid Freshmen. Joe looked on in undis-
guised delight. After all, Yale might be more to
him than he had anticipated.
“Like to go a rabbit?” suggested Ricky.
“A rabbit? ” asked Joe. “ I didn’t know they
were in season? ”
“ The Welsh variety,” laughed Ricky. “ They’re
great with a mug of ale, they say, only I cut out
the ale.”
“ Same here,” admitted Joe. “ Yes, I’ll go one.
It’s made of cheese, isn’t it? ”
“ And other stuff. Great for making you dream.
Come on, this is the Freshmen table over here. I
was in this morning.”
“ Do they have tables for each class.”
“ They don’t — I mean the management doesn’t,
but I guess it would be as much as your hair was
worth to try to buck in where you didn’t belong.
Know anybody here? ”
62
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Not a soul — ^wish I did.”
“ I didn’t when I came this morning, but there
are some nice fellows at the Red Shack.”
“ Red Shack? ” Joe looked puzzled.
“Yes, that’s our hang-out. It’s painted red.”
“Oh, I see.”
“There are a couple of ’em now,” went on
Ricky, who seemed perfectly at ease in his com-
paratively new surroundings. He was a lad who
made friends easily, Joe decided. “Hi, Heller,
plow over here 1 ” Ricky called to a tall lad who
was working his way through the throng. “ Bring
Jones along with you. They’re both at our shack,”
he went on in a low voice to Joe. “ Shake hands
with Matson — he’s one of us chickens,” he con-
tinued, and he presented the newcomers as though
he had known them all their lives.
“You seem at home,” remarked Jones, who
was somewhat remarkable for his thinness.
“ I am — Slim 1 ” exclaimed Ricky. “ I saj, you
don’t mind if I call you that; do you? ” he asked.
“That’s what the other fellows do; isn’t it? ”
“ Yes. How’d you guess it? ” asked Jones, with
a laugh.
“Easy. I’m Ricky — Richard by rights, but I
don’t like it. Call me Ricky.”
“ AU right, I will,” agreed Slim Jones.
“I’m Hank Heller, if you’re going m for
names,” came from the other youth, while Joe had
to admit that his appellation was thus shortened
from Joseph.
“ Well, now we know each other let’s work our
jaws on something besides words,” suggested
Ricky. “ Here, do we get waited on, Alphonse? ”
he called to a passing waiter.
Joe thought he had never been in such a de-
lightful place, nor in such fine company. It was
altogether different from life at Excelsior Hall,
and though there were scenes that were not always
decorous from a strict standpoint, yet Joe realized
that he was getting farther out on the sea of life,
and must take things as they came. But he re-
solved to hold a proper rein on himself, and,
though deep in his heart he had no real love for
college life, he determined to do his best at it.
The meal was a delightful one. New students
were constantly coming in, and the place was blue
with smoke from many cigars, pipes and cigar-
ettes. % Ricky smoked, as did Hank Heller, but
Slim Jones confessed that it was a habit he had
not yet acquired, in which he was like Joe.
“ Say? we’re going to have some fun at our
joint,” declared Ricky on their way back, at a
somewhat late hour. “ We’ll organize an eating
club, or join one, and we’ll have some sport. We’ll
be able to stand off the Sophs, better, too, by hang-
ing together. When the Red Shack gets full we’ll
A NEW CHUM 63
64
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
do some organizing ourselves. No use letting the
Sophs, have everything.”
“That’s right,” agreed Joe.
As they passed along the now somewhat quiet
streets they were occasionally hailed by parties of
hilarious Sophomores with the command:
“Take off your hats, FreshiesI”
They obeyed, perforce, for they did not want
to get the name of insurgents thus early in the
term.
“ Come in and have a talk,” invited Ricky, as
they entered the rooming house. “ It’s early yet.”
“Guess I’ll turn in,” confessed Hank. “I’m
tired.”
“ I’ll go you for awhile,” agreed Slim.
“ How about you, Joe ? ”
“No, I want to unpack a bit. See you in the
morning.”
“All right. We’II go to chapel together.”
As Joe entered his new room, and turned on the
light, he saw a figure in one of the beds. For a
moment he was startled, having forgotten that he
was to share the room with someone. The youth
turned over and gazed at Joe.
“ Oh I ” he exclaimed with a rather pleasant
laugh. “ I meant to sit up until you came back,
to explain, but I guess I fell asleep. Mrs. Hop-
kins said you had no objections to a partner, and
this was the only place available.”
A NEW CHUM 65
“ Not at all ! ” exclaimed Joe cordially. “ Glad
you came in. It’s lonesome rooming alone.”
“ You’re Matson; aren’t you ? ” asked the youth
in bed.
“Yes.”
“ My name is Poole — Burton Poole.”
Then, for the first time Joe recognized the lad
he had seen standing all alone on the depot plat-
form — the one to whom he had been inclined to
speak — ^but from which impulse he had held him-
self back.
CHAPTER VIII
AMBITIONS
“ Shake hands ! ” exclaimed Joe, as he stepped
over to the bed, on which the other raised him-
self, the clothes draping around him. Then Joe
saw how well built his new room-mate was — the
muscles of his arms and shoulders standing out,
as his pajamas tightened across his chest.
“ Glad to know you,” greeted Poole. “ You
are sure you don’t mind my butting in? ”
“ Not at all. Glad of your company. I hate to
be alone. I wish you’d come In a bit earlier, and
you could have gone down to Glory’s with us.”
“ Wish I had. I’ve heard of the place, but as a
general rule I like a quieter shack to eat. ”
“Same here,” confessed Joe. “We’re talking
of starting a feeding joint of our own — the^ Fresh-
men here — 'or of joining one. Are you with us ? ”
“ Sure thing. Do you know any of the fellows
here?”
“Three — in our shack. I just met them to-
night. They seem all to the good.”
66
AMBITIONS
67
“Glad to hear it. I’ll fill in anywhere I can.”
“Well, I’m going to fill in bed — right now! ”
asserted Joe with a yawn. “ I’m dead tired. It’s
quite a trip from my place, and we’ve got to go
to chapel in the morning.”
“ That’s so. Are you a sound sleeper ? ”
“Not so very. Why? ”
“ I am, and I forgot to bring an alarm clock. I
always need one to get me up.”
“ I can fix you,” replied Joe. “ I’ve got one that
would do in place of a gong in a fire-house. I’ll
set it going.” And from his trunk, after rummag-
ing about a bit, he pulled a large-sized clock, noise-
less as to ticking, but with a resonant bell that cre-
ated such a clamor, when Joe set it to tinkling, that
Ricky Hanover came bursting in.
“ What’s the joke ? ” he demanded, half un-
dressed. “Let me in on it.”
“ The alarm clock,” explained Joe. “ My new
chum was afraid he’d be late to chapel. Ricky,
let m^ make you acquainted with Mr. Poole.”
“ Glad to know you,” spoke Ricky. “ Got a,
handle?”
“A«avhat?”
“ Nickname. I always think it’s easier to get
acquainted with a fellow if he’s got one. It isn’t
so stiff.”
“ Maybe you’re right. Well, the fellows back
home used to call me ‘ Spike’-”
68
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ What for? ” demanded Joe.
“ Because my father was in the hardware busi«
ness.”
“I see!” laughed Ricky. “Good enough.
Spike suits me. I say, you’ve got a pretty fair
joint here,” he went on admiringly. “And some
stuff, believe me ! ” There was envy in his tones
as he looked around the room, and noted the vari-
ous articles Joe was digging out of his trunk —
some fencing foils, boxing gloves, a baseball bat
and mask, and a number of foreign weapons which
Joe had begun to collect in one of his periodical
fits and then had given up. “ They’ll look swell
stuck around the walls,” went on Ricky.
“Yes, it sort of tones up the place, I guess,”
admitted Joe.
“I’ve got a lot of flags,” spoke Spike. “My
trunk didn’t come, though. Hope it’ll be here to-
morrow.”
“ Then you will have a den ! ” declared Ricky.
“ Got any photos? ” ,
“ Photos ? ” queried Joe wonderingly.
“ Yes — girls? You ought to see my collection!
Some class, believe me ; and more than haif were
free-will offerings,” and Ricky drew himself up
proudly in his role of a lady-killer.
“ Where’d you get the others? ” asked Spike.
“Swiped ’em — some I took from my sister.
They’ll look swell when I get ’em up. Well, I’m
AMBITIONS 69
getting chilly I ” he added, and it was no wonder,
for his legs were partly bare. See you later I”
and he slid out of the door.
“Nice chap,” commented Joe.
“Rather original,” agreed Spike Poole. “I
guess he’s in the habit of doing things. But say,
I’m keeping you up with my talk. I’m afraid.”
“ I guess it’s the other way around,” remarked
Joe, with a smile.
“No, go ahead, and stick up all the trophies
you like. I’ll help out to-morrow.”
“Oh, well, I guess this’ll do for a while,” said
Joe a little later, when he had partly emptied his
trunk. “ I think I’ll turn in. I don’t know how
I’ll sleep — that Welsh rabbit was a bit more than
I’m used to. So if I see my grandmother in the
night ”
“ I’ll wake you up before the dear old lady gets
a chance to box your ears,” promised his room-
mate with a laugh. And then our hero crawled
into bed to spend his first night as a real Yale
student.
Joe thought he had never seen so perfect a
day as riie one to which the alarm clock awakened
him some hours later. It was clear and crisp, and
on the way to chapel with the others of the Red
Shack, he breathed deep of the invigorating air.
The exercises were no novelty to him, but it was
very different from those at Excelsior HaU, and
70 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
later the campus seemed to be fairly alive with the
students. But Joe no longer felt alone. He had
a chum — several of them, in fact, for the acquaint-
ances of the night before seemed even closer in the
morning.
The duties of the day were soon over, lectures
not yet being under way. Joe got his name down,
learned when he was expected to report, the hours
of recitation, and other details. His new chums
did the same.
“And now let’s see about that eating club,”
proposed Ricky Hanover, when they were free for
the rest of the day.” It’s all right to go to Glory’s
once in a while — especially at night when the jolly
crowd is there, and a restaurant isn’t bad for a
change — but we’re not here for a week or a
month, and we want some place that’s a bit like
home.”
The others agreed with him, and a little investi-
gation disclosed an eating resort run by a Junior
who was working his way through Yale, fit was
a quiet sort of a place, on a quiet street, not so
far away from the Red Shack as to make it in-
convenient to go around for breakfast. The
patrons of it, besides Joe and his new friends, were
mostly Freshmen, though a few Juniors, acquaint-
ances of Roslyn Joyce, who was trying to pay his
way to an education by means of it, ate there, as
AMBITIONS
71
did a couple of very studious Seniors, who did
not go in for the society or sporting life.
“ This’ll be just the thing for us,” declared Joe;
and the others agreed with him.
There was some talk of football in the air. All
about them students were discussing the chances
of the eleven, especially in the big games with
Harvard and Princeton, and all agreed that, with
the new material available, Yale was a sure win-
ner.
“What are you going in for?” asked Joe of
Ricky, as the five of them — ^Joe, Ricky, Spike, Slim
Jones and Hank Heller strolled across the cam-
pus.
“ The eleven for mine — ^if I can make it ! ” de-
clared Ricky. “What’s yours, Joe?”
“ Baseball. But it’s a long while off.”
“That’s right — the gridiron has the call just
now. Jove, how I want to play ! ” and Ricky
danced about in the excess of his good spirits.
“What are you going in for?” asked Joe of
Hank Heller.
“ I’d like to make the crew, but I don’t suppose
I have 'much chance. I’ll have to wait, as you
will.”
“ If I can get on the glee club, I’m satisfied,” re-
marked Slim Jones. “That’s about all I’m fit
for,” he added, with a whimsical smile. “ How
about you, Spike ? Can you play anything ? ”
72
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“The Jewsharp and mouthorgan. Have they
any such clubs here ? ”
“ No ! ” exclaimed Ricky. “ But what’s the mat-
ter with you trying for the eleven? You’ve got
the build.”
“ It isn’t in my line. I’m like Joe here. I like
the diamond best.”
“ Do you ? ” cried our hero, delighted to find
that his room-mate had the same ambition as him-
self. “ Where do you play ? ”
“Well, I have been catching for some time.”
“ Then you and Joe ought to hit it off 1 ” ex-
claimed Ricky. “Joe’s crazy to pitch, and you
two can make up a private battery, and use the
room for a cage.”
CHAPTER IX
the shampoo
Football was in the air. On every side was
the talk of it, and around the college, on the
streets leading to the gridiron, and in the cars that
took the students out there to watch the practice,
could be heard little else but snatches of conversa-
tion about “punts” and “forward passes,” the
chances for this end or that fullback— how the
Bulldog sized up against Princeton and Harvard.
Of course Joe was interested in this, and he
was among the most Iqyal supporters of the team,
going out to the practice, and cheering when the
Varsity made a touchdown against the luckless
scrub.
“ We’re going to have a great team 1 ” declared
Ricky, ^s he walked back from practice with Joe
one day.
“ I’m sure I hope so,” spake our hero. “ Have
you had a chance ? ”
“ Well, I’m one of the subs, and I’ve reported
every day. They kept us tackling the dummy for
74
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
quite a while, and I think I got the eye of one of the
coaches. But there are so many fellows trying,
and such competition, that I don’t know — it’s a
fierce fight,” and Ricky sighed.
“Never mind,” consoled Joe. “You’ll make
good, I’m sure. I’ll have my troubles when the
baseball season opens. I guess it won’t be easy to
get on the nine.”
“ Weil, maybe not, if you insist on being pitch-
er,” said Ricky. “ I hear that Weston, who
twirled last season, is in line for it again.”
“Weston — does he pitch?” gasped Joe. It
was the first time he had heard — or thought to
ask — ^what position the lad held who had sneered
at him.
“That’s his specialty,” declared Ricky.
“They’re depending on him for the Yale-Prince-
ton game. Princeton took the odd game last year,
and we want it this.”
“ I hope we get it,” murmured Joe. “ And so
Ford Weston pitches; eh? If it comes to a' con-
test between us I’m afraid it will be a bitter one.
He hates me already. I guess he thinks I’ve got
a swelled head.”
“ Say, look here, Joe ! ” exclaimed Ricky, with
a curious look on his face, “you don’t seem to
know the ropes here. You’re a Freshman, you
know.”
“Sure I know that. What of it? ”
THE SHAMPOO 75
Lots. You know that you haven’t got the
ghost of a show to be pitcher on the ’varsity ; don’t
you?”
Know it? Do you mean that W^eston can so
work things as to keep me off ? ”
Not Weston; no. But the rules themselves
are against you. It’s utterly impossible that you
should pitch this year,”
“Why? What rules? I didn’t know I was in-
eligible.”
“ Well, you are. Listen, Joe. Under the in-
tercollegiate rules no Freshman can play on the
varsity baseball nine, let alone being the pitcher,”
He can’t ? ” and Joe stood aghast.
No. It s out of the question. I supposed you
knew that or I’d have mentioned it before.”
Joe was silent a moment. His heart seemed al-
most to stop beating. He felt as though the floor
of the room was sinking from under his feet.
“I — I never thought to ask about rules,” said
Joe, slowly. “ I took it for granted that Yale was
like other smaller universities— that any fellow
could play on the ’varsity if he could make it.”
Not at Yale, or any of the big universities,”
went on Ricky in softened tones, for he saw that
Joe was much affected. “You see the rule was
adopted to prevent the ringing in of a semi-pro-
fessional, w'ho mignt come here for a few months,
qualify as a Freshman, and play on the ’varsity!
76
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
.You’ve got to be a Sophomore, at least, before
you can hope to make the big team, and then of
course, it’s up to you to make a fight for the
pitcher’s box.”
Once more Joe was silent. His hopes had been
suddenly crushed, and, in a measure, it was his
own fault, for he had taken too much for granted.
He felt a sense of bitterness — ^bitterness that he
had allowed himself to be persuaded to come to
Yale against his own wishes.
And yet he knew that it would never have done
to have gone against his parents. They had their
hearts set on a college course for him.
“ Hang it all ! ” exclaimed Joe, as he paced up
and down, “ why didn’t I think to make some in-
quiries? ”
“ It would have been better,” agreed Ricky.
“But there’s no great harm done. You can play
on the Freshman team this coming season, and
then, when you’re a Soph, you can go on that team,
and you’ll be in line for the ’varsity. You can
play on the Junior team, if you like, and they have
some smashing good games once in a while.”
“ But it isn’t the ’varsity,” lamented Joe.
“No. But look here, old man; you’ve got to
take things as they come. I don’t want to preach,
but ”
“ That’s all right — slam it kito me ! ” exclaimed
Joe. “ I need it — I deserve it. It’ll do me good.
RtAOCB’S
THE SHAMPOO 77
I won’t be so cock-sure next time. But I hoped to
make the ’varsity this season.”
“ It’ll be better for you in the end not to have
done so,” went on his friend. “You need more
practice, than you have had, to take your place on
the big team. A season with the Freshmen will
give it to you. You’ll learn the ropes better — get
imbued with some of the Yale spirit, and you’ll
be more of a man. It’s no joke, I tell you, to
pitch on the ’varsity.”
“No, I imagine not,” agreed Joe, slowly.
“Then, I suppose there’s no use of me trying to
even get my name down on a sort of waiting list.”^
“ Not until you see how you make out on the
Freshman team,” agreed Ricky. “You’ll be
watched there, so look out for yourself. The old
players, who act as coaches, are always on the
lookout for promising material. You’ll be sized
up when you aren’t expecting it. And, not only
will &ey watch to see how you play ball, but how
you act under all sorts of cross-fire, and in emer-
gencies. It isn’t going to be any cinch.”
“Nq, I can realize that,” replied Joe. “And
so Weston has been through the mill, and made
good?”
“He’s been through the mill, that’s sure
enough,” agreed Ricky, “but just how good he’s
made will have to be judged later. He wasn’t
such a wonder last season.”
UBBARf
78
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“There’s something queer about him,” said
Joe. ■
“ How’s that? ”
“ Why, if he’s oniy a Soph this year he must
have been a Freshman last. And yet he pitched
on the ’varsity I understand.”
“Weston’s is a peculiar case,” said Ricky. “ I
heard some of the fellows discussing it. He’s
classed as a Soph, but he ought really to be a
Junior. This is his third year here. He’s a smart
chap in some things, but he got conditioned in
others, and in some studies he is still taking the
Soph lectures, while in others he is with the
Juniors. He was partly educated abroad, it
seems, and that put him ahead of lots of us in
some things. So, while he was rated with the
Freshmen in some studies last year, he was enough
of a Sophomore to comply with the intercollegiate
rules, and pitch on the ’varsity. He did well, so
they said.”
“I wish fate handed me out something like
that,” mused Joe. “ If I had known that I’d have
boned away on certain things so as to gef a Soph-
omore rating — at least enough to get on the big
mne. ’
“Why, don’t you intend to stay at Yale?”
asked Ricky. “A year soon passes. You’ll be
a Sophomore before you know it”
■ \
THE SHAMPOO
79
wish I was in shoes,” said Joe
softly.
Since that meeting on the campus, when the
Sophomore had not recognized Joe, the two had
not encountered each other, and Joe was glad
enough of it.
“I’m glad I didn’t meet him in Riverside,”
thought Joe. “ It won’t make it so hard here —
when it comes to a showdown. For I’m going
to make the nine ! The ’varsity nine ; if not this
year, then next ! ” and he shut his teeth in deter-
mination.
Meanwhile matters were gradually adjusting
themselves to the new conditions of affairs at
lYale — at least as regards Joe and the other Fresh-
men. The congenial spirits in the Red Shack, in-
creased by some newcomers, had, in a measure,
“found” themselves. Recitations and lectures
began their regular routine, and though some of
the Ijrtter were “cut,” and though often in the
interests of football the report of “ not prepared ”
was made, still on the whole Joe and his chums
did fairiy well.
Joe, perhaps because of his lack of active in-
terest in football, as was the case with his room-
mate, Spike, did better than the others as regards
lessons. Yet it did not come easy to Joe to buckle
down to the hard and exacting work of a college
8o
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
course, as compared to the rather easy methods
in vogue at Excelsior Hall.
Joe was not a natural student, and to get a cer-
tain amount of comparatively dry knowledge into
' his head required hours of faithful work.
“ Fm willing to make a try of it— for the sake
of the folks,” he confided to Spike; “but I know
I’m never going to set the river on fire with classics
or math. I’m next door to hating them. I want
to play baseball.”
“ Well, I can’t blame you — in a way,” admitted
his chum. “ Of course baseball isn’t all there is
to life, though I do like it myself.”
“ It’s going to be my business in life,” said Joe
simply, and Spike realized then, if never before,
the all-absorbing hold the great game had on his
friend. To Joe baseball was as much of a busi-
ness — or a profession if you like — as the pulpit
was to a divinity student, or the courts to a mem-
ber of the law school. ^
The Yale football team began its triumphant
career, and the expectations of the friends of the
eleven were fully realized. To his delight Ricky
played part of a game, and there was no holding
him afterward.
“ I’ve got a chance to buck the Princeton tiger I”
he declared. “ The head coach said I did well ! ”
“Good I” cried Joe, wondering if he would
THE SHAMPOO 8i
have such fine luck when the baseball season
started.
Affairs at the Red Shack went on smoothly, and
at the Mush and Milk Club, which the Freshmen
had dubbed their eating joint, there were many
assemblings of congenial spirits- Occasionally
there was a session at Glory’s — a session that
lasted far into the night — though Joe and his
room-mate did not hold forth at many such.
“ It’s bad for the head the next day, ” declared
Spike, and he was strictly abstemious in his habits,
as was Joe. But not all the crowd at the Red
Shack were in this class, and often there were dis-
turbances at early hours of the morning — college
songs howled under the windows with more or less
“ harmony,” and appeals to Joe and the others to
** stick out their heads.”
“ I think we’ll get ours soon,” spoke Spike one
night, as he and Joe sat at the centre table of the
“--room, studying.
‘MDurwhat?”
“ Drill. I heard that a lot of the Freshmen
were caught down the street this evening and made
to walk Spanish. They’re beginning the shampoo,
too.”
“ The shampoo — ^what’s that? ”
“ An ancient and honorable Yale institution, in
which the candidate is head-massaged with a buck-
et of paste or something else.”
82
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Paste or what?”
“You’re allowed your choice, I believe. Paste
for mine, it’s easier to get out of your hair if you
take it in time.”
“ That’s right. I’m with you— but — er— how
about a fight? ”
“ It’s up to you. Lots of the Freshmen stand
’em off. It’s allowed if you like.”
“Then I say — fight 1” exclaimed Joe. “I’m
not going to be shampooed in that silly fashion if
I can help it.”
“ Then we’ll stand ’em off ? ” questioned Spike.
“ Sure — as long as we can,” declared Joe.
“ Though if they bring too big a bunch against us
we’ll probably get the worst of it.”
“Very likely, but we can have the satisfaction
of punching some of the Sophs. I’m with you.”
“Where’ll they do it?”
“ No telling. They may catch us on the street,
or they may come here. For choice ”
Spike paused and held up his hand for silence.
There was a noise in the hall, in the direction of
the front door. Then came the voice off Ricky
Hanover saying:
“No, you don’t! I’ve got the bulge on you!
No monkey business here! ”
“Get away from that door. Fresh!” shouted
someone, half-angrily; “or we’ll bust it in!”
THE SHAMPOO 83
“ Give him the shampoo— -both of ’em ! ” yelled
another.
“You don’t get in here!” cried Ricky. “I
say— — ■”
His voice was drowneid out in a crash, and a
moment later there was the sound of a struggle.
“ Here they come,” said Spike in a low voice.
“ Let’s take off our coats,” proposed Joe, in the
same tone. “ If we’re going to fight I want to
be ready.”
CHAPTER X
A WILD NIGHT
“ Say, Ricky is sure putting up a great fight 1 *
“Yes, and he’s as wiry as they make ’em! ”
“He’ll make ’em wish they’d let him alone —
maybe.”
“And maybe not,” returned Spike. He and
Joe had passed these remarks after a grim silence,
followed by a resumption of the crashing struggle
in the hall near the front door. “ There are too
many of ’em for him,” went on Joe’s room-mate.
“ Wait until I take a peep,” proposed the young
pitcher. He advanced to the door, rolling up his
sleeves as he went.
“ Don’t ! ” snapped Spike. “ They’ll be here
soon enough as it is, without us showing ourselvesr
I’d just as soon they’d pass us up this trip — it’s
an unpleasant mess.”
“ That’s right. Maybe we can stand ’elli off.”
“No such luck. I think they’re coming.”
The noise in the hall seemed redoubled. Ricky
could be heard expostulating, and from that he
changed to threats.
84
A WILD NIGHT
85
“I’ll make you wish you hadn’t tried this on
me 1 ” he shouted. “ I’ll punch ”
“ Oh, dry up ! ” commanded someone.
“ Stuff some of that paste in his mouth I ” or-
dered another voice.
“ A double shampoo for being too fresh 1 ”
“ No, you don’t! I won’t stand ”
“ Then take it lying down. Here we go, boys ! ”
“ I — Oh ” and Ricky’s voice trailed off into
an Indistinct murmur.
“ He’s getting his,” said Spike in a low tone.
“And I guess here is where we get ours,” said
Joe, as the rush of feet sounded along the corri-
dor, while someone called :
“ Come on, fellows. More work for us down
here. There are some of the Freshles in their
burrows. Rout ’em out! Smash ’em up!”
The tramping of feet came to a pause outside
the door of our two friends.
“ Open up 1 ” came the command.
lome in I ” invited Joe. They had not turned
the key as they did not want the lock broken.
Into the room burst a nondescript horde of
students. They were wild and disheveled, some
with torn coats and trousers, others with neckties
and collars missing, or else hanging in shreds
about their necks.
“ Ricky put up a game fight! ” murmured Joe.
“He sure did,” agreed Spike.
86
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Hello, Freshmen!” greeted the leader of the
Sophomores. “ Ready for yours? ”
“ Sure,” answered Spike with as cheerful a grin
as he could muster.
“ Any time you say,” added Joe.
“ The beggars were expecting us ! ” yelled a
newcomer, crowding into the room.
“Going to fight?” demanded someone.
“Going to try,” said Joe coolly.
“Give ’em theirs! ’’ was the yell.
“ What’ll it be — ^paste or mush ? ”
Joe saw that several of the Sophomores carried
pails, one seemingly filled with froth, and the other
with a white substance. Neither would be very
pleasant when rubbed into the hair.
“ Maybe you’d better cut ’em both out,” sug-
gested Joe.
“ Not on your life ! Got to take your medicine,
kid ! ” declared a tall Sophomore. He made a
grab for Joe, who stepped back. Someone swung
at our hero, who, nothing daunted, dashed arfiSc
into his antagonist’s face, and the youth went down
with a crash, taking a chair with him.
“ Oh, ho ! Fighters ! ” cried a new voice.*" Slug
’em. Sophs ! ”
Joe swung around, and could not restrain a gasp
of astonlshmentj for, confronting him was Ford
Weston, the ’varsity pitcher. On his part Weston
seemed taken aback.
• \
87
A WILD NIGHT
“Jove!” he cried. “It’s the little country
rooster I saw pitch ball. So you came to Yale
after all? ”
“ I did,” answered Joe calmly. It was the first
he had met his rival face to face since that time
on the campus when Weston had not known him.
“Well, we’re going to make you sorry right
now,” sneered Weston. “ Up boys, and at ’em I ”
“ Let me get another whack at him 1 ” snarled
the lad Joe had knocked down.
There was a rush. Joe, blindly striking out,
felt himself pulled, hauled and mauled. Once he
went down under the weight of numbers, but he
fought himself to a kneeling position and hit out
with all his force. He was hit in turn.
He had a glimpse of Spike hurling a tall Soph-
omore half way across the room, upon the sofa
with a crash. Then with a howl the second-year
men closed in on the two Freshmen again.
^ Joe saw Weston coming for him, aiming a vi-
cious blow at his head. Instinctively Joe ducked,
and with an uppercut that was more forceful than
he intended he caught the pitcher on the jaw.
Weston went backward, and only for the fact
that he collided with one of his mates would have
fallen. He clapped his hand to his jaw, and as
he glared at Joe he cried : ■
“ I’ll settle with you for this !
“Any time,” gasped Joe, and then his voice
88 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
was stopped as someone’s elbow caught him in the
jaw.
“Say, what’s the matter with you fellows?”
demanded a voice in the doorway. “ Can’t you
do up two Freshmen? Come on, give ’em what’s
coming and let’s get out of this. There’s been too
much of a row, and we’ve got lots to do yet to-
night. Eat’emupl”
Thus urged by someone who seemed to be a
leader, the Sophomores went at the attack with
such fury that there was no withstanding them.
The odds were too much for Joe and Spike, and
they were borne down by the weight of numbers.
Then, while some of their enemies held them,
others smeared the paste over their heads, rubbing
it well in. It was useless to struggle, and all the
two Freshmen could do was to protect their eyes.
“ That’s enough,” came the command.
“ No, it isn’t I ” yelled a voice Joe recognized as
that of Weston. “ Where’s that mush ? ”
“No! No! ” expostulated several. “They’ve
had enough — the paste was enough.”
“ I say no ! ” fairly screamed Weston. ^ Hand
It here I ”
He snatched something from one of his mates,
and the next instant Joe felt a stream of liquid
mush drenching him. It ran into his eyes, smart-
ing them grievously, and half blinding him. With
A WILD NIGHT Sg
a mad struggle he tore himself loose and struck
out, hut his fists only cleaved the empty air.
“ Come on I ” was the order.
There was a rush of feet, and presently the
room cleared.
“ Next time don’t be so — fresh! ” came taunt-
ingly from Weston, as he followed his mates.
“Water — ^waterl” begged Joe, for his eyes
seemed on fire.
“ Hold on, old man — ^steady,” came from Spike.
“What is it?”
“ Something in my eyes. I can’t see 1 ”
“ The paste and mush I expect. Rotten trick.
Wait a minute and I’ll sponge you off. Oh, but
we’re sights I ”
Presently Joe felt the cooling liquid, and the
pain went from him. He could open his eyes and
look about. Their room was in disorder, but, con-
sidering the fierceness of the scrimmage, little
''l^Biage had been done.
But the lads themselves, when they glanced at
each other, could not repress woeful expressions,
followed by laughs of dismay, for truly they were
in a direful plight. Smeared with paste that made
their hair stand up like the quills of a fretful por-
cupine, their shirts streaked with it, they were in-
deed weird looking objects. Paste was on their
faces, half covering their noses. It stuffed up
90
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
their ears and their eyes stared out from a mask
of it like burned holes in a blanket.
“ Oh, but you are a sight ! ” exclaimed Spike.
“The same to you and more of it,” retorted
Joe. “ Let’s get this off.”
“ Sure, before it hardens, or we’ll never get it
off,” agreed Spike.
Fortunately there was plenty of water in their
room, and, stripping to their waists they scrubbed
to such good advantage that they were soon pre-
sentable. The removal of their coats and vests
had saved those garments.
“They went for you fierce,” commented Spike.
“Who was that fellow who came in last?”
“Weston — Varsity pitcher.”
“ He had it in for you.”
“ Seemed so, but I don’t know why,” and Joe
related the little scene the day of the Silver Star-
Resolute game.
“ Oh, well, don’t mind him. I say, let’s go out.JI.
“What for?”
“ It’s going to be a wild night from the way it’s
begun. Let’s see some of the fun. No use trying
to study, I’m too excited.”
“ I’m excited too. But if we go out they may
pitch onto us again.”
“ No, we can claim immunity. I want to see
some of the other fellows get theirs. We’ll get
Ricky and the other bunch and have some fun.”
A WILD NIGHT
91
“ All right; I’m with you.” I
They dressed, and, having made their room 1
somewhat presentable, they called for Ricky. He |
was busy trying to get rid of his shampoo, j
which had been unusually severe. He readily I
fell in with the notion of going out, and with \
Hank Heller and Slim Jones in the party the five
set out.
They swung out into Wall street, up College,
and cut over Elm street J:o the New Haven Green,
where they knew all sorts of tricks would be going
on. For the Sophomores had started their haz-
ing in earnest.
It was indeed a wild night. The streiets about
the college buildings were thronged with students,
and yells and class-rallying cries were heard on
every side.
“ Let’s go over to High street,” proposed Joe,
and they ran up Temple, to Chapel, and thence
to High, making their way through throngs.
Several times they were halted by groups of Soph-
omores, with commands to do some absurdity, W
an assertion that they had been shampooed, with
the particulars, and the evidence yet remaining in
spots, was enough to cause them to be passed.
High streeit was filled with even a greater
crowd as they reached it, a party of Freshman
pouring out from the college campus endeavoring
to escape from pursuing enemies.
92
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
Through Library street to York they went, with
shouts, yells and noises of rattles and other sound-
producing instruments.
“ Let’s follow and see what happens,” proposed
Ricky. ‘ I want to see some other fellow get his
as long as I had mine,”
Just then Joe saw several figures come quietly
out from behind a building and start up York
street, in an opposite direction from that taken by
the throng. Under the glare of an electric light
he recognized Weston and some of the crowd
who had shampooed them. Some sudden whim
caused Joe to say:
There’s the fellows who shampooed us. Let’s
follow and maybe we can get back at ’em. There
are only five— that’s one apiece.”
“ Right you are! ” sang out Ricky. “ I want
to punch someone.”
Come on then,” signalled Spike. “ I’m out
for the night. It’s going to be a wild on<>«II
right.”
And truly it seemed so.
CHAPTER XI
THE RED PAINT
Pursuing those who had given them the sham-
poo, Joe and his chums found themselves trailing
down a side street in the darkness.
“ I wonder what they’re up to,” ventured Spike.
“ Oh, some more monkey business,” declared
Ricky. “ If they try it on any more Freshmen
though, we’ll take a hand ourselves; eh? ”
“Sure,” assented the others.
“There they go — around the corner — and on
the run I ” suddenly exclaimed Slim Jones. “ Get
a move on! ”
''Our friends broke Into a trot — ^that is, all but
Joe. He tried to, but stepping on a stone it
rolled over with him, and he felt a severe pain
shoot through his ankle.
“Sprained, by Jove !” he exclaimed. “I’m
glad It isn’t the baseball season, for I’m going to
be laid up.”
He halted, and in those few seconds his com-
panions, eager in the chase, drew ahead of him
93
uesAsy
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
94
in the darkness, and disappeared around another
corner.
“ I can’t catch up to ’em,” decided Joe. “ Won-
der if I can step on the foot? ”
He tried his weight on it, and to his delight
found that it was not a bad sprain, rather a severe
wrench that, while it lamed him, still allowed him
to walk.
“ Guess I’ll go back,” he murmured. “ If there’s
a row I can’t hold up my end, and there’s no use
being a handicap. I’ll go back and turn in. I can
explain later.”
He turned about, walking slowly, the pain seem-
ing to increase rather than diminish, and he real-
ized that he was in for a bad time.
“ If I could see a hack I’d hail it,” he thought,
but the streets seemed deserted, no public vehicles
being in sight. “ I’ve got to tramp it out,” Joe
went on. “Well, I can take it slow.”
His progress brought him to Wall street, and
he decided to continue along that to Temple, and
thence to the modest side-thoroughfare on which
the Red Shack was located. But he was £ot des-
tined to reach it without further adventures.
As he came around a corner he heard the mur-
mur of low voices, and, being cautious by nature,
he halted to take an observation.
“If it’s my own crowd — all right,” he said.
Receiveii from
' REaDcH'S EEhViCE
THEfeti'PAl'M’ '‘"''95'
** But if it’s a lot of Sophs, I don’t want to ran into
em.
He listened, and from among those whom he
could not see he heard the murmur of voices.
“That’s the house over there,” said someone.
“ Right! Now we’ll see if he’ll double on me
just because I wasn’t prepared. I’ll make him v/aik
Spanish 1 ”
“ Got plenty of the magoozilum?”
“ Sure. We’ll daub it on thick.”
“They can’t be after Freshmen,” mused Joe.
“ I wonder what’s up ? ”
He looked across the street in the direction
where, evidently, the unseen ones were directing
their attention.
“A lot of the profs, live there,” mused Joe.
“ I have it ! Some one’s going to play a trick on
’em to get even. I’ll just pipe it off ! ”
He had not long to wait. Out of the shadows
stole two figures, and, even in the dimness he
recognized one of them as Ford Weston. The
other he did not know.
“ Coipe on ! ” hoarsely whispered the ’varsity
pitcher to his chum. “ I’ll spread it on thick and
then we’ll cut for it. Separate streets. I’ll see
you in the morning, but keep mum, whatever hap-
pens.”
The two figures ran silently across the street,
and paused in front of a detached house. One
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
96
seemed to be actively engaged at the steps for a
few minutes, and then both quickly ran off again,
the two separating and diving down side streets.
“ Huh 1 Whatever it was didn’t take them long, ”
thought Joe. “I wonder what it was? Guess
I’ll »
But his half-formed resolution to make an in-
vestigation was not carried out. He heard shout-
ing down the street, and thinking it might be a
crowd of Sophomores, he decided to continue on
to his room.
“They might start a rough-house with me,”
mused Joe, “ and then my ankle would be more on
the blink than ever. I’ll go home.”
He started off, rather excited over the events
of the night, and found that even his brief spell
of standing still had stiffened him so that he could
hardly proceed.
“Wow! ” he exclaimed, as a particularly sharp
twinge shot through him. He had gone about two
blocks when he heard someone coming behind him.
He turned in apprehension, but saw only a single
figure. ^
“ Hello ! What’s the matter? ” asked a young
man as he caught up to Joe.
“Twisted my ankle.”
“ So ? What’s your name ? ”
“ Matson — I’m a Freshman.”
“ Oh, yes. I think I saw you at Chapel. Ken'
THE RED PAINT
9 ?
dall’s my name.” Joe recognized it as that of
one of the Juniors and a member of the ’varsity
nine. “ How’d it happen? ”
“Oh, skylarking. The Sophs, were after us
to-night.”
“ So I heard. You’d better do something for
that foot,” he went on, as he noticed Joe’s limp.
“ I going to as soon as I get to my room.”
“ Say, I tell you what,” went on Kendall. “ My
joint’s just around the corner, and I’ve got a prime
liniment to rub on. Suppose you come in and I’ll
give you some.”
“ Glad to,” agreed Joe. “ I don’t believe I’ve
got a bit at my shack, and the drug stores are all
closed.”
“ Come along then — here, lean on me,” and
Kendall proffered his arm, for which Joe was
grateful.
“Here we are,” announced Kendall a little
later, as they turned into a building where some
of the wealthier students had their rooms. “ Sorry
it’s up a flight.”
“ Ohj I can make it,” said Joe, keeping back an
exclamation of pain that was on his lips.
“ We’ll just have a look at it,” continued his new
friend. “ I’ve known a strain like that to last a
long while if not treated properly. A little rub-
bing at the right time does a lot of good.”
Joe looked in delight at the room of his newly
98
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
found friend. It was tastefully, and even richly,
furnished, but with a quiet atmosphere differing
from the usual college apartment.
“You’ve got a nice place here,” he remarked,
thinking that, after all, there might be more to
Yale life than he had supposed.
“Oh, it’ll do. Here’s the stuff. Now off with
your shoe and we’ll have a look at that ankle.
I’m a sort of doctor— look after the football lads
sometimes. Are you trying for the eleven? ”
“No, baseball is my stunt.”
“Yes? So’s mine.”
“You catch, don’t you?” asked Joe. “I’ve
heard of ‘Shorty’ Kendall.”
’■ That’s me,” came with a laugh. “ Oh, that’s
not so bad,” he went on as he looked at Joe’s foot.
“A little swelled. Here, I’ll give it a rub,” and
in spite of Joe’s half-hearted protests he pro-
ceeded to massage the ankle until it felt much
better.
“Try to step on it,” directed Shorty Kendall.
Joe did so, and found that he could bear his
weight on it with less pain.
“I guess you’ll do,” announced the Junior.
“ Cut along to your room now — or say — hold on,
I can fix you up here for the night. I’ve got a
couch ”
“No, thank you,” expostulated Joe. “The
boys would worry if I didn’t come back.”
THE RED PAINT
99
“ You could send word— — ”
“No, I’ll trot along. Much obliged.”
“Take that liniment with you,” directed Ken-
dall.
“ Won’t you need It? ”
“Not until the diamond season opens, and
that’s some time off yet. Good night — can you
make the stairs? ”
“Yes — don’t bother to come down,” and Joe
limped out.
As he reached the first hall he was made aware
that someone was coming in the front dcnor. Be-
fore he could reach it the portal opened and a
student hurried in, making for a room near the
main entrance. In the glare of the hall light Joe
saw that the youth was Ford Weston.
He also saw something else. On Weston’s
hand was a red smear — ^brilliant — scarlet. At first
Joe thought it was blood, but a slight odor in the
air told him it was paint.
An instant later his eyes met those of the rival
pitcher — at least Joe hoped to make him a rival
— and Weston started. Then he thrust his
smeared hand Into his pocket, and, without a word,
hurried into his room and slammed the door.
CHAPTER XII
joe's silence
“ Rather queer,” mused Joe, after a moment’s
silence. “ I wonder he didn’t say something to me
after what happened. So he rooms here ? It’s a
great shack. I suppose if I stay here the full
course I’ll be in one of these joints. But I don’t
believe I’m going to stay. If I get a chance on the
’varsity nine next year and make good — then a
professional league for mine.”
He limped out of the dormitory, and the pain
in his ankle made him keenly aware of the fact
that if he did not attend to it he might be lame for
some time.
“ Red paint,” he murmured as he let himself
out. “ I wonder what Weston was doing with it?
Could he Oh, I guess it’s best, not to think
too much in cases like this.”
He reached his rooming place and trod along
the hall, his injured foot making an uneven stac-
cato tattoo on the floor.
“ Well, what happened to you? ”
“ Where did you hike to ? ”
“Were you down to Glory’s all by your lone-
some ? ”
“ What’d you give us the slip for? ”
“ Come on; give an account of yourself.”
These were only a few of the greetings that
welcomed him as he entered his apartment to find
there, snugly ensconced on the beds, chair, sofa and
table, his own room-mate and the other friends
who had gone out that wild night.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Spike, in
some alarm, as he saw his friend limping.
“ Oh, nothing much. Twisted ankle. I’ll be
all right in the morning. How did you fellows
make out? ”
“Nothing doing,” said Ricky. “The boobs
that shampooed us split after we got on their trail,
and we lost ’em. Did you see anything of ’em?”
“Not much,” said Joe, truthfully enough.
“ Then where did you go ? ”
He explained how he had twisted on his ankle,
and turned back, and how, in coming home, he had
met Kendall. He said nothing of watching Wes-
ton and another chap do something to the stoop
of the unknown professor’s house.
“ Mighty white of Kendall,” was Spike’s
opinion, and it was voiced by all.
“ Oh, what a night ! ” exclaimed Slim Jones.
“ Home was never like this I ”
102
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Well, you fellows can sit up the rest of the
night if you want to,” said Joe, after a pause; “ but
I’m going to put my foot to bed.”
“ I guess that’s the best place for ail of us,”
agreed Ricky. “ Come on, fellows ; I have got
some hard practice to-morrow. I may be called
to the ’varsity.”
“Like pie! ” jeered Slim Jones.
“Oh, ho! Don’t you worry,” taunted Ricky.
“ I’ll make it.”
There was a sensation the next morning. It
seemed that a well-known and very literary pro-
fessor, returning from a lecture from out of town,
before a very learned society, had slipped and
fallen on his own front porch, going down in some
^ greasy red paint that had been smeared over the
steps.
The professor had sprained a wrist, and his
clothing had been soiled, but this was not the worst
of it. He had taken with him, on his lecture, some
exceedingly rare and valuable Babylonian manu-
scripts to enhance his talk, and, in his fall these
parchments had scattered from his portfolio, and
several of them had been projected into the red
paint, being ruined thereby. And, as the manu-
scripts had been taken from the Yale library, the
loss was all the more keen.
“I say, Joe, did you hear the news?” gasped
103
Ricky, as he rushed into his friend’s room, just
before the chapel call. . :,„
“ No. Is there a row over the shampooing r
“Shampooing nothing! It’s red paint, and
some of those musty manuscripts that a prof, had,
and he poured out the tale.
“ Red paint? ” murmured Joe.
“Yes. There’s a fierce row over it, and the
Dean has taken it up. If the fellows are found
out they’ll be expelled sure. Oh,_but^it was a
night! But the red paint was the limit.
Joe did not answer, but in a flash there came
to him the scene where Weston had entered his
room, thrusting his hand into his pocket— a hand
smeared with red.
“ Fierce row,” went on Ricky, who was a
natural reporter, always hearing sensations al-
most as soon as they happened. “ The prof . went
sprawling on his steps, not knowing the goo was
there and the papers Oh me! Oh my! I
wonder who did It?”
“ Hard to tell I guess,” answered Joe, with
the bunch that was out last night.
“ That’s so. I’m glad it wasn’t any of our
fellows. We all stuck together— that is all hut
you. and, as if struck by a sudden thought,
he gazed anxiously at Joe. , ,
“ Oh, I can prove an alibi all right, laughed
the pitier. “ Don’t worry.”
104 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE :
“ Glad of it. Well, let’s hike. There goes the
hell.”
There was indeed a “fierce row,” over the
spoiling of the rare manuscripts, and the Dean
himself appealed to the honor of the students to
tell, if they knew, who the guilty one was.
But Joe Matson kept silent.
There was an investigation, of course, but it
was futile, for nothing of moment was disclosed.
It was several days later when Joe, strolling
across the college campus after a lecture, came
face to face with Weston. For a moment they
stood staring at one another.
The hot blood welled up into the cheeks of the
’varsity pitcher, and he seemed to be trying to
hide his hand — the hand that had held the red
smear. Then, without a word, he passed on.
And Joe Matson still maintained his silence.
The Fall passed. The Yale eleven swept on to
a glorious championship. The Christmas vaca-
tion came and went and Joe spent happy days at
home. He was beginning to be more and more
a_Yale man and yet — there was something con-
strained in him. His parents noticed it.
I — I don’t think Joe is very happy,” ventured
Clara, after he had gone back to college.
“ Happy — why not? ” challenged her mother.
“ Oh, I don’t know. He hasn’t said much about
baseball.’’
JOE’S SILENCE
105
“ Baseball ! ” chuckled Mr. Matson, as he
looked out of the window at the wintry New Eng-
land landscape. “ This is sleigh-riding weather —
not baseball.”
“ Oh, I do wish Joe would give up his foolish
idea,” sighed Mrs. Matson. “ He can never make
anything of himself at baseball. A minister now,
preaching to a large congregation ”
“ I guess, mother, if you’d ever been to a big
ball game, and seen thousands of fans leaning
over their seats while the pitcher got ready to
deliver a ball at a critical point in the contest,
you’d think he had some congregation himself,”
said Mr. Matson, with another chuckle.
“ Oh, well, what’s the use talking to you ? ” de-
manded his wife; and there the subject was
dropped.
Joe went back to Yale. He was doing fairly
well in his lessons, but not at all brilliantly. Study
came hard to him. He was longing for the Spring
days and the green grass of the diamond.
Gradually the talk turned from debating clubs,
from glees and concerts, to baseball. The weather
raged and stormed, but there began to be the hint
of mildness in the wintry winds.
In various rooms lads began rummaging
through trunks and valises, getting out old gloves
that needed mending. The cage in the gymnasium
was wheeled out and some repairs made to it.
lo6 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ By Jove ! ” cried Joe one day, “ T — I begin to
feel as if I had the spring fever.”
“Baseball fever you mean,” corrected Spike.
“It’s the same thing, old man.”
Jimmie Lee, a little Freshman who roomed not
far from Joe’s shack, came bursting in a little
later.
“ Hurray ! ” he yelled, slapping our hero on the
back. “Heard the news?”
“ What news ? ” asked Spike. “ Have you been
tapped for Skull and Bones, or Wolf’s Head? ”
“ Neither, you old iconoclast. But the notice is
up.”
“What notice?”
“ Baseball candidates are to report in the gym.
to-morrow afternoon. Hurray!” and he dealt
Spike a resounding blow.
Joe Matson’s eyes sparkled.
CHAPTER XIII
EARLY PRACTICE
“ What are you going to try for? ”
Have you played much before you came
here?”
Oh, rats I I don’t believe I’ll have any show
with all this bunch ! ”
“ Hey, quit shoving; will you? ”
“ Oh, Rinky-Dink ! Over here 1 ”
“ Hi, Weston, we’re looking for you.”
There goes Shorty Kendall. He’ll sure catdi
this year.”
Hello, Mac! Think you’ll beat Weston to it
this year? ”
“ I might,” was the cool reply.
The above were only a few of the many chal-
lenges, shouts, calls and greetings that were
bandied from side to side as the students, who
had been waiting long for this opportunity,
crowded into the gymnasium.
It was the preliminary sifting and weeding out
of the mass of material offered on the altar of
107
io8 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
baseball. At best but a small proportioa of the
candidates could hope to make the Varsity, or
even a class team, but this did not lessen the throng
that crowded about the captain, manager and
coaches, eagerly waiting for favorable comment.
“Well, we’re here 1 ’’ exulted Jimmie Lee, who
had, the night before, brought to Joe the good
news that the ball season had at least started to
open.
“Yes, we’re here,” agreed Joe.
“And what will happen to us?” asked Spike
Poole. “ It doesn’t look to me as if much
would.”
“Oh, don’t fool yourself,” declared Jimmie,
who, being very lively, had learned many of
the ropes, and who, by reason of ferreting about,
had secured much information. “The coaches
aren’t going to let anything good get by ’em. Did
you see Benson looking at me ! Ahem I And I
think I have Whitfield’s eye I Nothing like hav-
ing nerve, is there ? Joe, hold up your hand and
wriggle it— they’re trying to see where you’re lo-
cated,” and, with a laugh at his conceit, Jimmie
shoved into the crowd trying to get nearer the
centre of interest — to wit, where the old players
who served as coaches were conferring with the
captain.
The latter was Tom Hatfield, a Junior whose
remarkable playing at short had won him much
EARLY PRACTICE
log
fame. Mr. William Benson and Mr. James,
Whitfield were two of the coaches. George Far-
ley was the manager, and a short stocky man, with
a genial Irish face, who answered to the name of
Dick McLeary, was the well-liked trainer.
“Well, if I can make the outfield I suppose I
ought to be satisfied,” spoke Jimmie Lee. “But
I did want to get on a bag, or somewhere inside
the diamond.”
“ I’ll take to the daisies and be thankful,” re-
marked Spike; “ though I would like to be behind
the bat.”
“Carrying bats would do me for a starter,”
spoke a tali lad near Joe. “ But I suppose I’ll be
lucky if they let me play on the Freshman team.
Anyhow as long as I don’t get left out of it alto-
gether I don’t mind. What are you going to try
for ? ” he asked of our hero.
“ I would like to pitch. I twirled at Excelsior
Hall, and I think I can play on the mound better
than anywhere else, though that’s not saying I’m
such a muchness as a pitcher,” added Joe,
modestly. “ I did hope to get on the ’varsity,
but ”
“ Pitch 1 ” exclaimed the other frankly. “ Say,
you’ve got as much chance to pitch on the ’varsity
as I have of taking the Dean’s place to-morrow.
Pitch on the ’varsity! Say, I’m not saying any-
thing against you, Matson, for maybe you can
no BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
pitch, but Weston has the place cinched, and if he
falls down there’s Harry McAnish, a southpaw.
He stands about second choice.”
“ Oh, I’ve been disillusioned,” said Joe frank-
ly. “ I know I can’t get on the ’varsity this year.
But don’t they have more than one pitcher in re-
serve? ”
“ Oh, yes, sure. But Bert Avondale comes next,
and I have heard that he’s even better than Wes-
ton, but Weston is steadier — -in most games. I
don’t want to discourage: you, but you’d better try
for some other place than pitcher.”
“ No, I’m going to try for there,” said Joe in a
low voice. “I may not make it, but if I get a
chance to show what I can do, and then fall down,
I won’t kick. I mean next year, of course,” he
added.
“Oh, you may get a chance all right. Every
fellow does at Yale. But you’re up against some
of the best college baseball material that ever
came over the pike. Sometimes I think I’ve got
nerve even to dream of a class team. But listen —
they’re going to start the fun now.”
The manager was speaking, announcing more
or less formally, that which everyone knew al-
ready — that they had reported to allow a sort
of preliminary looking over of the candidates.
There were several of the former ball team who
would play, it was said, but there was always need
EARLY PRACTICE iii
and a chance, for new material. All save Fresh*
men would be given an opportunity, the manager
said, and then he emphasized the need of hard
work and training for those who were given the
responsibility of carrying the blue of Yale to vic-
tory on the diamond.
“And, no less does this responsibility rest on
the scrub, or second team,” went on Farley. “ For
on the efficiency of the scrub depends the efficiency
of the Varsity, since good opposition is needed in
bringing out the best points of the first team.”
Farley, who was one of the old players, acting
as a coach, went on to add :
“I have used the word ‘scrub’ and ‘second
team,’ though, as you well know, there is nothing
like that here at Yale, that is as compared to foot-
ball. When I say ‘ scrub ’ I mean one of the class
teams, the Freshman, Sophomore or Junior, for,
in a measure, while separate and distinct teams
themselves, they will serve us the same purpose as
a scrub or substitute team would in football. They
will give us something to practice with — some op-
position — for you’ve got to have two nines to
make a ball game,” and he smiled at the anxious
ones looking at him.
“ So,” he went on, “ When I use the word
‘ scrub ’ after this, or when any of the other
coaches do, I want you to understand that it will
mean one of the class teams which, for the pur-
i'
II2 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
pose of strengthening the Varsity, and enabling it
to practice, acts as opposition.
“ Sometimes the Varsity will play one team., and
sometimes another, for the class teams will have
j their own contests to look after, to win, we hope ;
to lose, we hope not. I wish. I could give you
Freshmen encouragement that you could make the
Varsity, but, under the rules, none of you can.
Now we’ll get down to business.”
He gave encouragement to many, and consoled
those who might fail, or, at best, make only a
dass team. Then he introduced the captain —
Tom Hatfield — ^who was received with a rousing
cheer.
“Well, fellows,” uid Hatfield, “I haven’t
much to say, This is my first experience at the
head of a big college nine, though you know I’ve
played with you in many games.”
“ That’s right — and played well, too I ” yelled
someone. “ Three cheers for Hatfield! ”
They were given with a will, and the captain
resumed.
“ Of course we’re going to win this year, even
'if we didn’t last.” This was received in silence,
for the losing of the championship to Princeton
the previous season had been a sore blow to Yale.
“We’re going to win,” went, on Hatfield in a quiet
voice; “but, just because we are, don’t let that
fool you into getting careless. We’ve all got fca
EARLY PRACTICE
IIS
work hard — to train hard — and we’ve got to
practice. I expect every man to report regularly
whether he thinks he has a chance to make the
’varsity or not. It’s part of the game, and we’ve
all got to play it — scrub and ’varsity alike.
“ I guess that’s all I’ve got to say, though I may
have more later, after we get started. The
coaches will take charge now and you’ll have to
do as they say. We won’t do much to-day, just
some catching and a bit of running to see how
each fellow’s wind is.” He nodded to the coaches
and trainer, and as he stepped back once more
came the cry :
“Three cheers for Hatfield. Good old Yale
cheers ! ”
The gymnasium rang with them, and then came
the Boola song, after which the crowd formed in
close line and did the serpentine dance.
“ Now then, get busyl ” commanded Mr. Ben-
son. “ Old players over that side, and the new
ones here. Give in your names, and say where
you’ve played. Lively now ! ”
He and Mr. Whitfield began circulating among
the candidates, and, as they approached him, Joe
felt his heart beginning to beat faster. Would
he have a chance? And, if he got it, could he
make good?
These were the questions he asked him.
“Name?”
1 14 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Matson — Joe.”
“Hum. Yes. Ever played before ? ”
“Yes, on a school nine.”
“Where?”
“Excelsior Hall.”
“Hum! Yes. Never heard of it. Where did
you play?”
“ I pitched.”
“Pitched. Hum! Yes. I never saw so many
pitchers as we have this season. Well, I’ll put
you down for your Freshman class team, though
I can’t give you much encouragement,” and Mr.
Benson turned to the next lad. “ Go over there
and do some throwing, I’ll watch you later,” he
concluded, and Joe’s heart began to sink as he saw
Spike motioning to him to come to one side and
indulge in some practice balls.
“How’d you make out? ” asked his room-mate.
“Oh, I’m engaged right off the bat,” laughed
Joe, but he could not conceal the anxiety in the
voice that he strove to make indifferent.
“So? Then you had better luck than I.
Whitfield told me he didn’t think I had the right
build for a catcher.”
“Well, maybe we can both make our scrub class
team,” spoke Joe.
“ Say, it hasn’t half begun yet,” declared Jim-
mie Lee, who had a hankering to play first base.
“ Wait until the main coach gets here, and we’ll
EARLY PRACTICE
1 15.
have a shake-up that’ll set some people on their
ears.”
“ What do you mean? ” asked Joe wonderlngly.
“ I mean that the main gazaboo isn’t here yet :
Mr. Forsythe Hasbrook— -old Horsehide they call
■him. He’s the main coach. These are only his
assistants.”
“ Is that so ? ” inquired Spike.
“ It sure is. He’s the real thing in baseball —
Horsehide is. An old Yale man, but up-to-date.
Played ever since he was a baby, and knows the
game from A to Z. He never gets here until the
preliminary practice has begun on the field, and
then it doesn’t take him long to size a fellow up.
Of course I only know what I’ve been told,” he
added, “ but that goes all right.”
“Well, if we didn’t get picked for the team
now, I don’t believe we’ll have any chance after
the main coach gets here,” said Joe.
“Guess not,” assented Spike. “Here we go.”
And they started to practice.
CHAPTER XI^
THE SURPRISE
“ Oh, get a little more speed on I Don’t run
so much like an ice wagon. Remember that the
object is to get to the base before the ball does ! ”
“ Lively now 1 Throw that in as if you meant
it! We’re not playing bean bag, remember! ”
“Oh, swing to it! Swing to it! Make your
body do some of the work as well as your arms ! ”
“ Don’t be afraid of the ball ! It’s hard, of
course, that’s the way it’s made. But if you’re
going to flinch every time it comes your way you
might as well play ping-pong 1 ”
“ Stand up to the plate I What if you do get
hit?’’
Thus the coaches were trying to instill into the
new candidates for the ’varsity nine some rudi-
ments of how they thought the game should be
played. Sharp and bitter the words were some-
times, bitten off with a snap and exploded with
cutting sarcasm, but it was their notion of how
to get the best out of a man, and perhaps it was.
ii6
THE SURPRISE
117
“ Remember we want to win games,” declared
Mr. Benson. “ We’re not on the diamond to give
a ladies’ exhibition. You’ve got to play, and play
hard if you want to represent Yale.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Mr. Whitfield.
“ We’ve got to have the college championship this
year. We’ve GOT to have it. Now try that
over,” he commanded of Ford Weston, who had
struck one man out in practice. “Do it again-
That’s the kind of playing we want.”
Joe, who had been catching with Spike, looked
enviously at his rival, who was on the coveted
mound, taking in succession many batters as they
came up. Shorty Kendall was catching for the
’varsity pitcher, and the balls came into his big
mitt with a resounding whack that told of speed.
“ I wonder if I’ll ever get there,” mused Joe,
and, somehow he regretted, for the first time
since coming to Yale, that he had consented to the
college arrangement. It seemed so impossible for
him to make way against the handicap of other
players ahead of him.
“ If I’d finished at Excelsior,” he told himself,
“ I think I’d have gotten into some minor league
where good playing tells, and not class. Hang
it all!”
The practice went on. It was the first of the
outdoor playing, and while the gymnasium work
had seemed to develop some new and unexpect-
Ii8 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
ediy good material, the real test of the diamond
sent some of the more hopeful candidates back
on the waiting list. As yet Joe had been given
scant notice. He had been told to bat, pitch,
catch and run, but that was all. He had done it,
but it had all seemed useless.
The day was a perfect Spring one, and the dia-
mond was in excellent condition. It had been
rather wet, but the wind had dried it, and, though
there were still evidences of frost in the ground,
they would soon disappear under the influence of
the warm sun.
In various sorts of uniforms, scattered over
the big field, the candidates went at their practice
with devotion and zeal. Winning a baseball game
may not be much in the eyes of the world, getting
the college championship may seem a small mat-
ter to the man of affairs — to the student or the
politician, intent on bigger matters. But to the
college lads themselves it meant much — it was a
large part of their life.
And, after all, isn’t life just one big game;
and if we play it fairly and squarely and win —
isn’t that all there is to it? And, in a measure,
doesn’t playing at an athletic game fit one to play
in life? It isn’t always the winning that counts,
but the spirit of fair play, the love for the square
deal, the respect for a worthy foe, and the deter-
mination not to give up until you are fairly beaten
THE SURPRISE
119
—all these things count for much. So, after all,
one can not blame the college lads for the in-
tense interest they take in their games. It is the
best kind of training for life, for it is clean and
healthful.
For a week or more this preliminary practice
was kept up. The weather remained fine, and
every afternoon the diamond was the scene of
much excitement. The candidates reported faith-
fully, and worked hard. There were many shifts
from some of the Sophomore or Junior nines to
the ’varsity, and back again. Some who had been
called to the “scrub,” as I shall call the class nines
when they practiced against the ’varsity, were sent
back to the waiting list — at best to bunt balls to
their fellows, to pitch or catch as suited the posi-
tions they hoped to fill.
Nor was it all easy work, it was really hard
toil. It is one thing to play ball without much
care as to the outcome, to toss the horsehide back
and forth, and, if it is missed, only to laugh.
It is one thing to try to bat, to watch the ball
coming toward you, wondering what sort of a
curve will break, and whether you will hit it or
miss it — or whether it will hit you — it is one thing
to do that in a friendly little game, and laugh if
you strike out.
But when making a nine depends on whether
your stick connects with the sphere — ^when getting
4 ( LISRAKV
320 BASEBALL JOE AT
the college letter for your sweater can be made,
or unmade, by this same catching of the ball, then
there is a different story back of it. There is a
nervous tension that tires one almost as much as
severe physical labor.
And there is hard physical work, too. Of
course it is a welcome change from the class-room
work, or the lectures, to get out on the diamond,
but it is work, none the less-
Then there are the coaches to put up with. I
never was a coach, though I have played under
them, and I suppose there is some virtue in the
method they use — that of driving the men.
And when a lad has done his best, has stood up
to the ball, and clouted at it for all he is worth,
only to fan the yielding air, it is rather discourag-
ing to hear the coach remark sarcastically:
“You’re not playing ping-pong, you know,
Jones.”
Or to hear him say with vinegary sweetness :
“ Did you hurt yourself that time, §mith ? It
was a beautiful wind blow, but — er — pardon me
if I mention, just for your benefit you know, that
the object in this game is to hit the ball. You
hit it, and then you run — run, understand, not
walk. And another thing, don't be so afraid
of it.
“ Of course this isn’t a rubber ball, of the sort
you probably used to play baby in the hole with — •
THE SURPRISE
I2I
it’s hard, and when it hits you it’s going to hurt.
But — don’t let it hit you, and for cats’ sake stand
up to the plate ! ”
It’s a way coaches have, I suppose, and al-
ways will. Joe felt so, at any rate, and he had
rather one would fairly howl at him, in all sorts
of strenuous language, than use that sarcastic tone.
And I think I agree with him.
There is something you ^et at when a coach
yells at you :
“ Come on there you snail I Are you going to
hold that base all day? Someone else wants to
get past you know.
“ Come on in ! We need that run ! Move as if
you meant it! Don’t fall asleep! Oh, for cats’
sake, fanning the air again? Run now! That’s
it. Slide ! Don’t be afraid of soiling your clothes,
we’ll buy you another suit ! ”
I hold this is preferable to the soft and sar-
castic method, but they used both varieties at Yale,
and Joe sometimes got so discouraged at times that
he felt like resigning. It was harder than he had
dreamed of, and he had not pictured a rosy time
for himself.
“ I don’t believe I’m ever going to make even
the class scrub, Spike,” said Joe to his room-mate
one day, following some long practice, when he
had not even been called on to bat.
“ Oh, yes you will,” declared his friend. “ You
122
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
can pitch — ^you know it, and I know it. I haven’t
caught off you these two weeks for nothing. You
can pitch, and they’ll find it out sooner or later.
Don’t give up ! ”
“ I’m not going to. And say, come to think of
it, you’re no better off than I am. They haven’t
noticed you either, and yet I’ve never seen anyone
who held the balls any better than you do. And,
as for throwing to second — say, you’ve got Ken-
dall beaten.”
“ I’m glad you think so,” murmured Spike.
“ I know it ! ” insisted Joe. “ I’ve played in a
few games. But what’s the use of kicking? May-
be our chance will come.”
“ I hope so,” replied Spike.
The practice went on, the elimination and weed-
ing out process being carried on with firm hands,
regardless of the heart-breaks caused.
“ First game to-morrow,” announced Jimmie
Lee, bursting into Joe’s room one evening. “ It’s
just been decided.”
“ Who do we play? ” asked Spike. Joe felt his
heart sink down lower than ever, for he realized
that if he had a chance he would have heard of it
by this time.
“ Oh, it isn’t a regular game,” went on Jimmie,
who was jubilant from having heard that he would
at least start at first base for the class team.
“ The scrub, as they call it, and ’varsity will play
the first regular contest. Horsehide is to be there
for the first time. Then there’ll be something do-
ing. I only hope he sees me.”
“The first regular practice game to-morrow,”
mused Joe. “Well, it will be a good one — to
watch.”
“Yes — to watch,” joined in Spike, grimly.
“ But the season is early yet, Joe.”
As they were talking the door opened and Ricky
Hanover came in. He was grinning broadly.
“Let’s go out and have some sport,” he pro-
posed. “ It’s as dull as ditch water around here.
Come on out and raise a riot. I’ll take you fellows
down to Glory’s, and you can have a rabbit.”
“ Get out ! ” cried Spike. “ We’re in training,
you heathen, and you’re not.”
“ A precious lot of good it will do you,” com-
mented the newcomer. “ Why don’t you chuck it
hU? You’ll never make the team — I mean you and
Joei, Spike. Jimmie here has had luck. Chuck it
*nd come on out.”
“ No,” spoke Joe slowly. “ I’m going to stick.”
“ So am I,” added his room-mate. “ You never
can tell when your chance will come. Besides, we
owe it to Yale to stick.”
“All right — I suppose you’re right,” agreed
Ricky, with a sigh. “ I did the same thing at foot-
ball. But I sure do want to start something.”
“ Begin on that,” laughed Joe passing him over
124
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
the alarm clock. “ It’s run down. Wind it and
start it going! ”
Ricky joined in the laugh against him, and soon
took his departure. Joe heard him come in at an
early morning hour, and wondered what “ sport
Ricky had been up to.
A large gathering turned out to see the first
real baseball contest of the season. By it a line
could be had on the sort of game the ’varsity
would put up, and all the students were eager to
see what sort of championship material they had.
There was a conference between coaches and
captains, and the ’varsity list was announced.
Weston was to pitch, and Kendall to catch.
Neither Joe’s name, nor those of any of his im
timate chums were called off for a class team.
Joe did have some hope of the scrub, but when
the name of the last man there had been called
off, Joe’s was not mentioned. He moved off to
the side, with bitterness in his heart.
The game started off rather tamely, though the
class pitcher — Bert Avondale — ^managed to strike
out two of the ’varsity men, to the disgust of the
coaches, who raced about, imploring their charges
to hit the ball. At the same time they called on
the scrub to do their best to prevent the ’varsity
men from getting to the bases.
It was playing one against the other* just as
THE SURPRISE
125
diamond dust is used to cut the precious stones of
which it once formed a part. „
“Well I haven’t seen anything wonderful,
remarked Joe to Spike, after the Erst inning.
“No, they’re a little slow warming up. But
wait. Oh, Isay, here he comes I”
“Who?” ,.i u- If T
“The head coach— Horsehide himself. 1
heJ he was to b. here to-day. It’s his fttst ap-
pearance. Now they’ll walk Spamsh.
Across the back-field a man was approaching
a ^a^who was eagerly surrounded by m..|y of
the candidates, and he was cheered to the echo,
while murmurs of his name reached Joe.
“ Let’s go up and have a look at him, p
’’‘’^Goi'ad,” agreed Joe, for
monrentarily stopped at the advent of the head
'°He was shaking hands all around, and, 1“
approached, M'- Forsythe Hasbrook turne^^^^
s” tfhk f '-ft
“as that of the man whom he had driven to the
depot in such a rush “> f T„e
“ And he’s Yale’s head coach 1 mumured Joe.
tt j wonder if he’ll remember me .
CHAPTER XV
HIS FIRST CHANCE
Joe Matson's hope of a quick recognition
from the man he had helped that day, and who
had turned out to be Yale’s head coach, was
doomed to disappointment, for Mr. Hash rook —
or, to give him the title lovingly bestowed on him
by the players, “ Horsehide ” — had something else
to do just then besides recognizing casual acquaint-
ances. He wanted to watch the playing.
After a brief conference between himself and
the other two coaches. In which the ’varsity cap-
tain had a part, Horsehide motioned for the play-
ing to be resumed. He said little at first, and then
when Weston, who was pitching, made a partial
motion to throw the ball to first base, to catch a
man there, but did not complete his evident in-
tention, Mr. Hasbrook called out:
“Hold on there! Wait a minute, Weston.
That was as near a balk as I’ve ever seen, and
if this was a professional game you might lose it
for us, just as one of the world series was, by a
pitcher who did the same thing.”
136
127
HIS FIRST CHANCE
“ What do you mean? ” asked Weston, slightly
mtan that pretending to throw a ball to
(i„t and not completing the action, is a balk, and
first, ana UUL r ,
your opponents could claim it
Iharp enough. Where were your eyes? he asked,
of the scrub captain.
« T er— I didn’t think— — ,
“ That’s what your brains are for, snap^ ^
W coac^ " can't play ball without brmna
any more than you 'general who
^tbaS^^b”.:: aU o/wt Now%o on, and
Z’t d .L again, Weston, and, if he does, yon
Su I balk on him and advance each man a base,
°'m‘*Wty%‘-" a"*’ *' “'’fd
Jed cSSem but it was a lesson dtey needed
*° “ sharp, isn’t he? ” said Joe.
“ That's what makes him the coach he is^ s^fc
Spike “What’s the use of soft-soap? That
never made a ball tine- wondering
“No, I suppose not. Joe w
U a-isn.,. Ilf* oueht to mention to ms cuuui
whether he oug Hasbrook, but he con-
chance meeting wit • rnieht get out and
eluded that a rJdon”l"
*e'‘redTate 0"
128
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
been heard about that act of vandalism, though the
professor who had fallen and spoiled the valuable
manuscripts was reported to be doing some quiet
investigating.
“I believe Weston had a hand in it,” thought
Joe, “ but I’m not going to say anything. He had
red paint on him, anyhow. I wonder what he has
against me, and if he can do anything to keep me
from getting a chance? If I thought so I’d — no,
I can’t do anything. I’ve just got to take it as it
comes. If I do get a chance, though, I think I
can make good.”
The practice game went on, developing weak
spots in both nines, and several shifts were made.
But the ’varsity pitcher remained the same, and
Joe watched Weston narrowly, trying to find out
his good points.
For Weston had them. He was not a brilliant
twirler, but he was a steady one, in the main, and
he had considerable speed, but not much of a
curve. Still he did manage to strike out a num-
ber of his opponents.
The game was almost over, and the ’varsity had
it safely in hand. They had not obtained it with-
out hard work, however, and they had made many
glaring errors, but in this they were not alone.
“Though, for that matter,” declared Joe, “I
think the scrub pitdher did better, and had better
HIS FIRST CHANCE 129
OTPport, than the Varsity. I don’t see why the
because they know they’- Pla5i“|
•r,«f fhe Varsity,” declared Spike. There s a
^ort of nervousness that makes ’em forget to_ o
’r.hiniThey could do Hit was son.eodrern.ne.
^"'‘wa^b'eT— d“7oe. “Well, here’s the
“I’n^w ?"ten.arked his
room-mate. “The coaches and captain w.l gc
“ntL te'mightr^eU vamoose.’’ said Joe.
“ They won’t need us.”
“ I guess not. Come on. ,
T't,; hovs strolled from the diamond. As tney
paTsa^gU of the Va^W-u„ound-
;„g 4e kerned to be illnstmting
Tme of the weak points of
1° 7 S“' As Joe came W*'
“trom^flestared^
out his hand. i_i Up pYclaimed.
“Why, how do you do! he exclaim
know you-I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere
130 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
fore, and under queer circumstances, too, but I
can’t just recall — ^hold on, wait a moment 1 ” he
exclaimed, as he saw Joe about to speak. “ I like
to make my brain work.
“ Ah! I have it! You’re the young fellow who
drove me to the station, in time to catch the New
York train, the day my carriage wheel broke.
Well, but I’m glad to see you again ! That was a
great service you did me, and I haven’t forgotten
it. Are you attending here ? ”
“Yes,” said Joe, glad that he had not been for-
gotten.
“ Good ! Are you playing ball ? ”
“Well— er— I— that is I haven’t ”
“Oh, I see. You’re trying for your team. Good!
I’m glad to hear it. It’s a great game — the great-
est there is. And so you are at Yale — Matson —
you see I haven’t forgotten your name. I never
expected to meet you here. Do you know the
Other coaches ? ”
“ I’ve met them,” murmured Joe, and he half
smiled in a grim fashion, for that was about as
far as his acquaintanceship had progressed. He
had met them but they did not know him apart
from many others.
“ Good ! ” exclaimed Mr. Hasbrook. “ Well,
I’ll see you again. And so you’re at Yale? Look
me up when you get time,” and he turned back to
his instruction, murmuring to the other coaches:
HiS FIRST CHANCE
“He did me quite a semce some ^
u • wlinle attention to the man who had, m
t: anyt else, peehaps. mastered .he saence of
basetall as It ought to b' P'aj'^^ j aU
“Well, say, you’ve got a tneM
ri»ht1” etcclaimed Spike, as he aud Joe
^ “ Tf I had your chance Id
“'“Ihanil” tlaimed^ ;;mat hettet
* “ W^, you tow HorseUde ? Why didn’t you
“I T°Ildn’t know I did until a little while ago I
had no idea that t Yale coach,
the station wo ahead of
T^ni- if you think he s going y :«4.olrpn
*“ others iust on that account yon’re nustaken.
“ Oh, I don’t say that.
“ It wouldn’t he square^ ^ow,
irglve^yon'a he'tter chance than you’ve had so
»1 ssrrlipdToe “But I’m not ex-
“ Well, maybe, ^ laughed joe.
peering anything like that
“Well, ust --/^^S^^iTdteLmherthat
do ;s come,” begged bpiKe. ^
I'joldyou.”
i.
132 . BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“I will,” declared Joe, with a laugh, and tihen
he added more earnestly: “If ever I do get 015
the mound, Spike, I’ll try to have you catch fot
me.”
“ I wish you would I ”
As they went off the field they saw the knot of
players still gathered about the head, and other
coaches, receiving instructions, and how Joe Mat*
son wished he was there none but himself knew.
In their rooms that afternoon and evening the
ball players talked of little save the result of the
first real clash between ’varsity and scrub, and the
effect of the return of the head coach. It was
agreed that the ’varsity, after all, had made a very
creditable showing, while the upholders of the
class team players gave them much praise.
“ But things will begin to hum now ! ” exclaimed
Jimmie Lee, as he sat in Joe’s room, while the beds,
sofa and table, to say nothing of the floor, were
encumbered with many lads of the Red Shack, and
some visitors from other places. “Yes, sir!
Horsehide won’t stand for any nonsense. They’ll
all have to toe the line now.”
“ Jove, weren’t the other coaches stiff enough? ”
asked Clerkinwell De Vere, who aspired to right
field. “ They certainly laced into me for further
orders when I muffed a ball.”
“ And so they should,” declared Spike. “ That’s
what they’re for.”
m
HIS FIRST CHANCE
“ Oh, but wait until you do that when Horse-
hid °ees you,” went on Jimmie. “ That won t be
a marker, will it, Shorty? ” .
“ I should say not. He’ll make your hair cur
all right. He’s a terror.” _
“ Friend of Joe’s here,” put m Spike.
“No! is he?” demanded Ricky Hanover, who
had drifted in. “How’s that?”
“ Oh, I just met him by accident,’^ thi
hero. “ It isn’t worth mentioning. He told th
incident after some urging.
“ I wish I stood in your shoes, said De Vere.
“ I’d be sure of my place then.”^ • T »»
» Nothing of the sort! ” exclaimed Jimmie Lee
“If Horsehide played favorites that way, he
wouldn’t be the coach he is. That’s one thing
about him — he makes his friends work harder
In anyone eke. I know he did it o*er season,
— everyone says so.” There’s
“ Oh, he’s square,” chimed in another. 1 h
not a better coach living, and none you can depend
on more. All he wants is to see good, clean play-
intr and Yale to win. ” .
®ioe could no. help «nklng of the
of meeting the head coach but, though he did have
Srhojes that it might lead to somethmg, he
resolutely put them out of his mind ^ .
“ I don’t want to get oh even the varsity that
. way!” he said to himself that night, when
134
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
visitors were gone, and he and Spike had turned
in. “ I want to win ray way.”
Nevertheless, he could not help a feeling of
slight nervousness the next day, when he reported
for practice.
“ Well, sarae old gag over again I suppose,” re-
marked Spike, as they went out to toss and catch.
‘‘ I suppose so,” agreed Joe.
He passed Mr. Hasbrook, who was giving some
instructions to the fielders just before the Varsity-
class game, but the head coach did not even notice
Joe.
After some batting and catching, and some
warming-up work on the part of the pitchers, Mr.
Benson called for a cessation of practice.
“ Here is the batting order and positions of the
nines for to-day,” he announced, producing a
paper. He began to read off the names. For the
Varsity they were the same as the day before. Joe,
who had permitted himself a faint hope, felt his
heart sinking.
“ For the opposition, or scrub,” announced the
assistant coach, and he ran down the line, unril
there was but one place unfilled — that of pitcher.
“Joe Matson! ” he called, sharply.
CHAPTER XVI
JOE MAKES GOOD
For a moment our hero could scarcely believe
his good fortune. He had been called to pitch for
the^crub ! Once more as he stood there, scarcely
comprehendmg, Mr. Benron caUrd o« sha^ly ;
‘‘ Didn’t you hear, Matson? You re ^ p
aeainst the Varsity, and I want you to beat em i
"^«?L-yes, sir,” answered Joe, in a sort of
And, ’varsity. If you don’t pound him all over
the field you’re no goodl Eat ’em upl ” snapped
ct^t ’em seruh,” Insisted Mr. Whit-
field, and thus it went on— playing one against the
other to get the Varsity to do ip ,
“ Plav ball I ” called the umpire. Get to work.
Come fa, you he motioned to those
■who were out on the field warming up.
“congramlatlons. old man! ” murmured Sprite,
as he shook Joe’s hand. “You deserve it.^
“And so do you. I wish you were going to
catch.” 5
135
136
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ I wish so, too, but maybe my chance will come
later. Fool’em now.”
iL^ad'a vision of Bert Avondale, the regular
scrub pitcher, moving to the bench,
stant his heart smote him, as he noted Bert des
to be displaced” murmured Joe.
“ It’s a queer world where your success has to be
made on someone else’s failure, and yet
all in the game. I may not make goo ,
coins to try awfully hard 1 ’ , , „
^ He wondered how his advancement jiad come
about, and naturally he reasonedthat
ment had resulted from the words spoken in p
v3.tc bv IV^r* tl^-sbroolc* it
“ I wonder if I’d better thank him ? mused Joe.
“ It would be the right thing to do, and yet
look as if he gave me the place by favor instead of
because I’ve |ot a right to have it, for the «
that I can pitch. And yet he doesn ^
can pitch worth a cent, unless some of the othe
coacLs have told him. But they haven t watched
me enough to know. However, I think 111 say
nothing until I have made good* i
Had Joe only known it, he had been more close-
ly watched since his advent on
he had suspected. It is not the coach who appears
to be taking notes of a man’s style of play who
JOE MAKES GOOD
m
seems to find out most. Mr. Hasbrook, once he
found that the lad who had rendered him such a
service was at Yale, and had aspirations to the
nine, made inquiries of the coaches who had done
the preliminary work.
“ Oh, Matson. Hum, yes. He does fairly
well,” admitted Mr. Benson. “He has a nice,
clean delivery. He Isn’t much on batting, though.”
“Few pitchers are,” remarked the head coach.
“ I wonder if it would do to give him a trial ? ”
“I should say so — ^yes,” put in Mr. Whitfield.
He was quick to see that his co-worker had a little
prejudice in Joe’s favor, and, to do the assistant
coaches justice, they both agreed that Joe had done
very well. But there were so many ahead of him
— men who had been at Yale longer — that in jus-
tice they must be tried out first.
“ Then we’ll try him on the scrub,” decided Mr.
Hasbrook; and so it had come about that Joe’s
name was called.
In order to give the scrubs every opportunity
to beat the ’varsity, and so that those players
would work all the harder to clinch the victory, the
scrubs were allowed to go to bat last, thus en-
hancing their chances.
“ Play ball 1 ” yelled the umpire again. “ It’s
getting late. Play ball ! ”
Joe, a little nervous, walked to the box, and
caught the new white ball which was tossed to him.
138 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
As he was rubbing some dirt on it, to take off the
smoothness of the horsehide, Mr. Hasbrook ad-
vanced toward him and motioned him to wait.
“ Matson,” said the head coach, smiling genial-
ly. “You wouldn’t let me reward you for the
great favor you did me a while ago, though I
wanted to. I hoped sometime to be able to re-
ciprocate, but I never thoughtit would come in this
way. I have decided to give you a chance to make
good.”
“ And I can’t thank you enough 1 ” burst out the
young pitcher. “I feel that — — ”
“Tut! Tut!” exclaimed Mr. Hasbrook, hold-
ing up his hand, “ I wouldn’t have done this if I
didn’t think you had pitching stuff in you. In a
way this isn’t a favor at aU, but you’re right, though
it might not have come so quickly. I appreciate
your feelings, but there are a few things I want to
say.
“At Yale every man stands on his own feet.
There is no favoritism. Wealth doesn’t count, as
I guess you’ve found out. Membership in the
Senior Societies — Skull and Bones, Scroll and Keys
— ^Wolf’s Head — doesn’t count — though, as you
will find, those exclusive organizations take their
members because of what they have done — not of
what they are.
“ And so I’m giving you a chance to see what is
in you. I’d like to see you make good, and I be-
JOE MAKES GOOD
139
lieve you will. But — if you don’t — that ends It.
Every tub must stand on its own bottom — ^you’ve
got to stand on your feet.* I’ve given you a chance.
Maybe it would have come anyhow, but, out of
friendship to you, and because of the service you
did me, I was instrumental in having it come ear-
lier. That Is not favoritism. You can’t know how
much you did for me that day when you enabled
me to get the train that, otherwise, I would have
missed.
“ It was not exactly a matter of life and death,
but it was of vital Importance to me. I would be
ungrateful, indeed, if I did not repay you in the
only way I could — ^by giving you the chance to
which you are entitled.
“ But — this is important — ^you’ve got to show that
you can pitch or you’ll lose your place. I’ve done
what I can for you, and, if you prove worthy I’ll
do more. I’ll give you the best coaching I can —
but you’ve got to have backbone, a strong arm, a
level head, and grit, and pluck, and a lot of other
things to make the Yale nine. If you do I’ll feel
justified in what I have done. Now, play ball ! ”
and without giving him a chance to utter the thanks
that were on his lips, Mr. Hasbrook left Joe and
took a position where he could watch the playing.
It Is no wonder that our hero felt nervous under
the circumstances. Anyone would, I think, and
140 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
when he pitched a wild ball, that the catcher had
to leap for, there were some jeers.
“ Oh, you’ve got a gr^at find! ” sneered Wes-
* ton. “ He’s a pitcher from Pitchville 1 ”
Joe flus;hed at the words, but he knew he would
have to stand more than that in a match game, and
he did not reply.
Other derogatory remarks were hurled at him,
and the coaches permitted it,_ for a pitcher who
wilts under a cross-fire is of little service in a big
game, where everything is done to “ get his goat,
as the saying goes.
“ Ball two ! ” yelled the umpire, at Joe’s second
delivery, and the lad was aware of a cold feeling
down his spine.
“I’ve got to make good! I’ve got to make
good 1 ” fiercely he told himself over again. There
seemed to be a mist before his eyes, but by an effort
he cleared it away. He stooped over pretending
to tie his shoe lace — an old trick to gain time
and when he rose he was master of himself again.
Swiftly, cleanly, and with the curve breaking
at just the right moment, his next delivery went
over the plate. The batsman '^struck at it and
missed by a foot.
“ Good work, old man! ” called the catcher to
him. “ Let’s have another.”
But the next was a foul, and Joe began to worry.
JOE MAKES GOOD
I4i
“You’re finding him,” called the Varsity cap-
tain to his man. “ Line one out.”
But Joe was determined that this should not be,
and it was not, for though the batter did not make
a move to strike at the second ball after the foul,
the umpire called sharply:
“ Strike — ^batter’s out.”
There was a moment of silence, and then a yeU
of delight from the scrubs and their friends.
“ What’s the matter with you ? ” angrily de-
manded Mr. Hasbrook of the batter. “ Can’t you
hit anything?”
The batsman shook his head sadly.
“ That’s the boy I ”
“That’s the way to do it! ”
“You’re all right, Matson!”
These were only a few cries that resounded. Joe
felt a warm glow in his heart, but he knew the bat-
tle had only begun.
If he had hoped to pitch a no-hit, no-run game
he was vastly disappointed, for the batters began
to find him after that for scattering pokes down
the field. Not badly, but enough to show to Joe
and the others that he had much yet to learn.
I am not going to describe that practice game in
detail, for there are more important contests to
come. Sufficient to say that, to the utter surprise
of the ’varsity, the scrub not only continued to
hold them well down, but even forged ahead of
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
them. In vain the coaches argued, stormed and
pleaded. At the beginning of the ninth inning the
scrubs were one run ahead.
“Now if we can shut them out we’ll win!”
yelled Billy Wakefield, the scrub captain, clapping
Joe on the back. “ Can you do it? ”
“ I’ll try, old man,” and the pitcher breathed a
trifle faster. It was a time to try his soul.
He was so nervous that he walked the first man,
and the ’varsity began to jeer him.
“We’ve got his goat! Play tag around the
bases now! Everyone gets a poke at it!” they
cried.
Joe diut his lips firmly. He was holding him-
self well in, and Mr. Hasbrook, watching, mur-
mured:
“ He’s got nerve. He may do, if he’s got the
ability, the speed and the stick-to-it-iveness. I
think I made no mistake.”
Joe struck out the next man cleanly, though the
man on first stole to second. Then, on a puzzling
little fly, which the shortstop, with no excuse in the
world, missed, another man got to first.
There was a double steal when Joe sent in his
next delivery, and the catcher, in a magnificent
throw to second, nearly caught his man. It was
a close decision, but the umpire called him safe.
There were now two on bases, the first sack
being unocccupied, and only one out.
JOE MAKES GOOD
143
“ Careful,” warned the catcher, and Joe nodded.
Perhaps it was lucky that a not very formidable
hitter was up next, for, after two balls had been
called, Joe struck him out, making two down.
“ Now for the final 1 ” he murmured, as the next
batter faced him. There were still two on bases,
and a good hit would mean two runs in, possibly
three if it was a homer.
“ I’m going to strike him out! ” thought Joe
fiercely.
But when two foul strikes resulted from balls
that he had hoped would be missed he was not so
sure. He had given no balls, however, and there
was still a reserve in his favor.
“ Ball one ! ” yelled the umpire, at the next de-
livery. Joe could hear his mates breathing hard.
He rubbed a little soil on the horsehide, though it
did not need it, but it gave him a moment’s respite.
Then, swift and sure, he threw the ball. Right
for the plate it went, and the batter lunged fiercely
at it.
But he did not hit it.
“Striker out — side’
umpire.
Joe had made good.
ftesli-
s out I ” came from the
CHAPTER XVII
ANOTHER STEP
“ ’Varsity beaten ! What do you know about
that? ” gasped Ricky Hanover, as the crowd that
had watched the game swarmed out on the dia-
mond.
“And Joe Matson did it!” added Spike.
“ Jove 1 but I’m glad for his sake ! And him only
a Freshman, playing on a scrub class team. I’m
glad!”
“So am I,” added Jimmie Lee, who joined
-them.
“ Will this get him a permanent place ? ” asked
Ricky. “ He’s entitled to it.”
“Well, he’s got his foot on the first rung of
the ladder anyhow,” was Jimmie’s opinion. “ But
it’ll be a good while before he pitches for the ’var-
sity. He’s got to show the coaches that it was
no freak work. Besides he’^ got a year to wait.”
“And he can do it!” declared Spike. “I
haven’t been catching him these last two weeks
for nothing. Joe isn’t a freak pitcher. He’s got
ANOTHER STEP
145
control, and that’s better than speed or curves,
though he has them, too.”
On ail sides there was talk about the result of
the practice game. Of course the second nine had,
in times past, often beaten the Varsity, for the
element of luck played into the hands of the scrub
as well as into those of Its opponents.
But the times were few and far between when
the first nine had to go down to defeat, especially
in the matter of a scrub Freshman pitcher admin-
istering it to them, and Joe’s glory was all the-
greater.
“ Congratulations, old man I ” exclaimed Avon-
dale, the scrub twirler whom Joe had temporarily
displaced. “ You saw your duty and you done it
nobly, as the poet says. You didn’t let ’em fuss,
you when you were in a tight corner, and that’s
w'hat tells in a ball game. Shake 1 ”
“ Thanks 1 ” exclaimed Joe. He knew just what
it meant for his rival to do this, and he appre-
ciated it. “ You can have a whack at them next.”
“I’m afraid not,” returned Avondale. “You
did so well that they’ll want to keep you at scrub,
and you’ll be on the ’varsity before you know it.”
“ I wish I could think so,” laughed Joe. As he.
spoke he saw Ford Weston passing behind him,
and the ’varsity pitcher had heard what was said.
A scowl passed over his face. He did not speak,
to Joe, but to Captain Hatfield, who was with him.
146 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
the pitcher murmured, loudly enough to be heard;
“ It was just a fluke, that was all. We could
have won only for the errors the fielders made.”
“ Maybe — ^maybe not,” agreed the captain. “ I
think we were outpitched, and I’m not afraid to
acknowledge it. We’ve got to do better!
“ Do you mean me ? ” There was challenge in
Weston’s tone.
“I mean all of us,” was the quiet answer.
“ Matson, you did us up brown, but you won’t do
it again,” and the captain laughed frankly.
“ I’U try — ^if I get the chance,” was the grim
retort.
Meanwhile the coaches had singled out some of
the ’varsity members whose playing had shown
faults, and were giving instructions how to cor-
rect them. Merky Bardine, who played on third,
had sprained his leg slightly, and the trainer,
McLeary, had taken him in hand to treat him.
Mr. Hasbrook walked up to Joe.
“ You did very well,” the chief coach was good
enough to say, “and I’m glad you had your chance.
You have a number of faults to correct, but I
think you can master them. One is that you don’t
get enough into the game yourself. A pitcher
must do more than merely deliver the ball. Twice
in this game you didn’t get after the bunts as you
might have done.”
Joe felt a little discouraged. He had hoped
ANOTHER STEP
147
for unqualified praise from the head coach, but he
was sensible enough to realize that it was all said
for his benefit, and he resolved to profit by it
In fact it was this quality and ability of Joe’s —
enabling him to receive advice graciously — that
made him the wonderful pitcher he afterward be-
came.
“ You must play into the game more,” went on
Mr. Hasbrook. “ Outside of the catcher, you’re
the only man on the team who can handle certain
bunts — I mean the pitcher. For that reason you
want to study a style of delivery that won’t leave
you in a bad position to look after the ball if it
is hit your way. You have the right idea now in
throwing, but you can improve, I’m sure.”
“ I’ll try,” spoke Joe.
“ I know you will, and that’s why I’m taking
the trouble to talk to you. Then you’ve got to
be on the watch for base stealing. There are some
catchers who can pretend to throw to second, and
yet so suddenly change as to deliver the ball to
the pitcher. This deceives the man on third, who
starts for home, and if you have the ball you can
nip him. So far we haven’t had a catcher who can
work this trick, but we may develop one before
we get through.”
“Then Kendall isn’t sure of his place?” asked
Joe eagerly, thinking of the desire of his chum
Spike to fill the position behind the plate later on.
148
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Well, he’s reasonably sure of it,” went on the
head coach cautiously. “ But we never can tell
what will develop after the season opens. An-
other point I’d like to impress on you is, that
sometimes you’ve got to help out on first base.
Particularly is this the case when a bunt comes
that the first baseman can take care of. Then it’s
your duty to hustle over to first.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Joe. It was all he could
think of to say at the time. In fact he was rather
dazed. There was a deal more to tliis baseball
game than he had imagined. He was beginning
to get an inkling of the difference between the ama-
teur sport and the professional way of playing.
“ I don’t want to burden you with too much ad-
vice at the start,” went on Mr. Hasbrook, “ for I
want you to remember what I tell you. From time
to time, as I see your weak points, I’m going to
mention them to you.”
“ I’ll be glad if you will,” spoke Joe earnestly.
“ On the whole you did very well to-day,” con-
cluded the head coach, “and I’m glad we gave
you the chance. Report for light practice to-mor-
row, and the next day we’ll try another game.
Look after your arm. You used it a good bit this
afternoon.”
Joe felt in rather better spirits after Mr. Has-
ibrook had finished than when he began.
“ I’m going to get a fair chance to show what
ANOTHER STEP
149
I can do, anyhow,” declared our hero, as he went
to his room. On the way he was joined by Spike,
who had dropped back when the head coach started
his instructions.
“ Well? ” asked Joe’s room-mate.
“ Fairly well,” was the answer. “ Say, I believe
you’ve got a chance, Spike.”
“Me? How?”
“ Why, it isn’t settled that Kendall will catch all
of next season.”
‘ Oh, I guess it is as much as anything is set-
tled in this world. “ But I can wait. I’ve got four
years here.”
Joe was elated at his triumph, and little was
talked of in baseball circles that night but how the
scrubs had “ put one over ” on the ’varsity. There
was some disposition to criticize the first team for
loose and too confident playing, but those who
knew gave Joe credit for what he had done.
And so the baseball season went on until the
varsity was fully perfected and established, the
class teams improved and the schedule made up.
Then came hard and grilling work. Joe was do-
ing his best on his Freshman class team, and often
played against the college nine, either in conjunc-
tion with his mates, or, when it was desired to give
one of the other Freshmen pitchers a chance, tak-
ing part with a mixed “ scrub ” team, composed of
150
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
lads from various classes in order to give the
Varsity good opposition.
And Yale swept on her way. Of coarse Joe
Bewailed the fact that he would have to lose a
whole year before he could hope for a chance to
be on the first team, but he bided his time.
Weston was doing fairly well, and the feeling be-
tween him and our hero had not changed.
'•jftfThe Spring term was drawing to a close. Yale
Princeton had met twice, and there was a
game apiece. Yale had also played other colleges,
losing occasionally, but winning often enough to
entitle her to claim the championship if she took
the odd game from the Tiger. But she did not,
and though her players insisted, none the less, that
Yale was at the top of the heap, and though the
sporting writers conceded this, still Princeton won
the third game. And Yale was bitter, though she
stood it grimly, — as she always does.
“Well, we’ll see what next year will bring
forth,” said Spike to Joe, at the wind-up of the
baseball season. “You’re coming back; aren’t
you ? ”
“ I wouldn’t miss it for anything now. Though,
as a matter of fact, I didn’t expect to. I thought
I’d take one year here, and if I could get on the
varsity nine long enough to say I had been on it.
I’d quit, and go in for the professional end if :t.
ANOTHER STEP
rS:E;;
But, since I can’t, I’ll come back and make an-
other stab at it.”
“That’s the way to talk. Well, I hope to be
here, too.”
The Summer vacation came, and Joe had passed
his examinations. Not brilliantly, but sufficiently
well to enable him to enter the Sophomore class.
“ And if I don’t make the ’varsity next Spring,
it will be my own fault! ” he cried, as he said
good-bye to his chums and packed up for home.
The Summer passed pleasantly enough. Joe’s
family took a cottage at a lake resort, and of
course Joe organized a ball team among the tem-
porary residents of the resort. A number of
games were played, Joe pitching in fine style. One
day a manager of one of the minor leagues at-
tended a contest where Joe pitched, and when
word of this was carried to our hero he had a
nervous fit. But he pulled himself together,
twirled magnificently, and was pleased to see the
“magnate” nod approvingly. Though later,
when someone offered to introduce Joe to him,
the lad declined.
“ I’ll wait until I’ve made a better reputation,”
he declared. “I want the Yale Y before I go
looking for other honors” ; and he stuck to that.
“Joe seems to care more for college than you
thought he would, father,” said Mrs. Matson,
when it came time for her son to go back as ^
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
152
Sophomore for the next Fall term. “ I think he’ll
finish yet, and make us all proud of him.”
“ Joe will never do anything that would not
make us proud of him,” said his father. “But
I rather fancy the reason he is so willing to go
hack to Yale is that he didn’t make the ’varsity
baseball nine last season. There’s a rule against
Freshmen, you know.”
“ Oh dear ! ” lamented Mrs. Matson. “ I did
hope he would like college for its own sake, and
not for baseball.”
“ It’s hard to separate baseball and football
from college likings, I guess,” conceded her hus-
band.
And so Joe went back. It was quite different
from entering New Haven as a Freshman, and
even in the old elms he seemed to have a pro-
prietary Interest. He took his old room, because
he liked It, and a number of his other Sophomore
friends did likewise, though some Freshmen held
forth there as usual.
Then came the football season, and, though
Joe took an interest in this, and even consented to
try for the scrub, he was not cut out for that sort
of work, and soon gave it up.
Yale made her usual success on the gridiron,
though the far-famed game with Princeton re-
sulted in a tie, which made the baseball nine all
die more anxious to win the championship.
fisceived from'
READER'S SERVICE
Rresb. Boarit of Mi/s-ilniNo
ANOTHER STEP ‘ 153
The Winter seemed endless, but soon there was
the beginning of baseball talk, as before, and this
was regarded as a sign of Spring. There was no
question now but what Joe was eligible for the
Varsity, though that was far from saying that he
would be picked for it. All his old friends had
returned to the university, and there was litde
change in the baseball situation as regards new
names. Most of the old ones kept their same
places.
Nothing definite had been learned about the red
paint episode, and though it was mentioned oc-
casionally, and often in a censorious manner as
against the perpetrator of it, the latter was not
discovered.
Then there began to gather at Yale the old-
time players, who acted as coaches. Mr. Has-
brook, who from long familiarity with the game,
and from his intense love of it, and for his alma
mater, was again named as head coach.
“Well, we’ve got a pretty good nine, I think,”
said Weston one day, after hard practice against
the Freshmen. How Joe did thank his stars that
he was not in the latter team, though he was first
pitcher on the Sophomore team.
“Yes, we have,” admitted several. “It looks
as if we could trim Princeton this time.” Joe had
pitched for the ’varsity in some informal practice
games, though Weston was regarded still as first
,, ^ UBRARY
154
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
choice. And Joe was fearful that his cherished
ambition was yet far from being realized.
“We’re playing good ball,” said Weston. “I
don’t say that because I’m pitching,” he added
quickly, as he saw some looking at him curiously,
“ but because we have got a good team — ^mostly^
old players, too,” and he glanced meaningly at
Joe, as though he resented his entrance as an as-
pirant for the mound.
“ One thing — ^we’ve got to tighten up consider-
ably,” declared Captain Hatfield. “We’ll play
our first match game with Amherst in two weeks,
and we want to swamp ’em.”
“Oh, we will,” said Weston easily.
“ Not unless you pitch better — and we ail play
better,” was the grim answer.
“What do you mean?”
“ Just what I said. You’ve got to strike more
men out, and play a livelier game.”
“ Well, I guess I can,” answered the pitcher,
sullenly.
There was only light practice the next day, and
Joe was told to perfect himself in signals with the
class captain. Then came another hard practice
contest, and, somewhat to Joe’s surprise, he was
not called on to pitch, as he fully expected. But
he resigned himself cheerfully when Avondale went
to the mound. Had our hero but known it, Mr.
Hasbrook had deliberately omitted to start Joe,
ANOTHER STEP 15^
wishing to discipline him, not, however, because
of anything Joe had done.
“ I think there’s championship material for one
of the big leagues in that lad,” mused the head
coach, to justify himself, “ and he’s got a hard row
ahead of him unless he learns to take disappoint-
ment. I’ll start him on the right track, though I
would like to pitch him steadily.”
And so Joe sat on the bench, while his rival
pitched. Whether it was on this account, or be-
cause the ’varsity had tightened, was not at once
apparent, but the fact was that the first team began
to pound out runs, and the scrub did not.
“ That’s the way I ” exclaimed the enthusiastic
assistant coaches. “ Eat ’em up, ’varsity! ”
Mr. Hasbrook smiled, but said nothing. At
the end of the seventh inning Joe was sent in to
pitch, but it was too late for the scrubs to save the
game for themselves, since the ’varsity had it by six
runs. Nor did Joe escape hitless, though from the
time he went in no runs were made by his op-
ponents.
“ Joe, you’re a better pitcher than I am,” de-
clared Avondale, frankly. “ I can see where I’ve
made mistakes,”
“Well, it isn’t too late to fix ’em.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” and, as It developed, it
was, for from then on Joe did most of the pitch-
ing for the scrub. Occasionally, when his arm was
156
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
a bit lame, Avondale was sent in, or one of the
other pitching candidates, but the result was nearly
always disastrous for the scrub.
Not that Joe always made good. He had his
off days, when his curves did not seem to break
right, and when his control was poor. But he was
trying to carry out Mr. Hasbrook’s instructions
to get into more plays, and this handicapped him
a bit at the start. -
The head coach saw this, and made allowances,
keeping Joe on the mound when the assistants
would have substituted someone else.
“Wait,” advised the head coacih. “I know
what I’m doing.”
The season was beginning to open. Schedules
were being arranged, and soon Y ale would begin to
meet her opponents. The practice grew harder
and more exacting. The voices of the coaches
were more stern and sharp. No errors were eX'
cused, and the scrub was worked doubly hard to
make the Varsity that much better.
Ford Weston had improved considerably and
then one day he went to piece? in the box, when
playing a particularly close and hard game with
the scrub.
There was surprise and consternation, and a
hasty conference of the coaches. An attempt was
made to stem the tide by putting in McAnish, the
southpaw, and he did some excellent work, but the
ANOTHER STEP
157
scrub seemed to have struck a winning streak and
took everything that came their way. Joe was
pitching, and held the first team well down.
There was gloom in Yale that night, for the
game with Amherst was not far off, and the Am-
herst lads were reported to be a fast and snappy
lot.
There was a day of rest, and then came the fina..
practice against the scrub. There was a consulta-
tion among the coaches in which the first and sec-
ond captains participated before the contest. Then
Mr. Hasbrook separated himself from the others.
“ Matson I ” he called sharply. “ You and Ken-
dall warm up a bit, and get a line on each other’s
signals. Matson, you’re going to pitch for the
Varsity to-day I ”
Received from
READER’S SteVMCE
Fresh Board of f oieigo Missions
CHAPTER XVin
PLOTTING
Joe Matson was trembling when he went to
his place, even after some lively warming-up prac-
tice with the catcher. The very thing he most
wanted had come to him very unexpectedly. And
yet he was sensible enough to realize that this was
only a trial, and that it did not mean he would
pitch against Amherst. But he had great hopes.
“Come!” he exclaimed to himself, as he got
ready for the opening of the game, “ I’ve got to
pull myself together or I’ll go all to pieces. Brace
up I ”
The sight of Weston glaring at him helped, in
a measure, to restore Joe to himself.
“He’s hoping I won’t make good,” thought
Joe. “ But I will I I must ! ”
It may have been because of Joe’s natural ner-
vousness, or because the scrub team was deter-
mined to show that they could bat even their own
pitcher, that was the cause of so many runs com-
ing in during the first inning. No one could
IS8
PLOTTING
159
fighdy say, but the fact remained that the runs
did come in, and it began to look bad for the
Varsity.
“ I told you how it would be — putting in a green
pitcher,” complained Mr. Benson.
“ Perhaps,” admitted the head coach. “ But
wait a bit. Joe isn’t as green as he looks. Wait
until next inning.”
And he was justified, for Joe got himself well
in hand, and the ’varsity, as if driven to despera-
tion by another defeat staring them in the face so
near to the Amherst game, batted as they never
had before. Avondale was all but knocked out of
the box, and the scrub captain substituted another
pitcher, who did much better. Joe’s former rival
almost wept at his own inability.
Meanwhile our hero was himself again, and
though he did give three men their bases on balls,
he allowed very few hits, so that the ’varsity took
the game by a good margin, considering their bad
start.
“That’s the way to do it! ” cried Captain Hat-
field, when the contest was over.
“ Do it to Amherst,” was the comment of the
head coach.
“We will!” cried the members of the first
team.
“Good work, Matson,” complimented Hat-
field. “ Can you do it again? ”
i6o BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Maybe — if I get the chance,” laughed Joe,
who was on an elevation of delight.
“ Oh, I guess you’ll have to get the chance,”
spoke the captain. He did not notice that Weston
was close behind him, but Joe did, and he saw the
look of anger and almost hate that passed over
the face of the pitcher.
“ He looks as though he’d like to bite me,” mur-
mured Joe. “ And yet it’s all a fair game. I may
get knocked out myself. But even then I’m not
going to give up. I’m in this to stay I If not at
Yale, then somewhere else.”
If Joe imagined that his work that day had been
without flaws he was soon to be disillusioned, for
Mr. Hasbrook, coming up to him a little later,
pointed out where he had made several bad errors
in judgment, though they had not resulted in any
gain for the scrub.
“ Still,” said the head coach, “you don’t want
to make them, for with a sharp team, and some of
the big college nines playing against you, those
same errors would lose the game.” And he pro-
ceeded to give Joe some good advice.
When Avondale, the twice-humiliated pitcher,
walked off the diamond that afternoon, he was
joined by Weston, who linked his arm in that of
the scrub twirler.
“ Well, we’re both in the same boat,” remarked
Avondale. “ A better man has ousted us.”
PLOTTING
i6i
“ Not at all- — nothing of the sort 1 ” cried Wes-
ton, and his voice showed how much he was ner-
vously wrought up. “ I don’t admit for a minute
that Matson can pitch better than I can.”
“Well, I do, in my own case, and the coaches
seem to in yours.”
“I’m a little out of form to-day,” admitted
Weston, quickly. “I’lTbe all right to-morrow,
and I’ll pitch against Amherst.”
“ It’ll be a great game,” spoke Avondale.
“ Maybe. But say, what do you think of a
fellow like him — a regular country clod-hopper —
coming here, anyhow? ”
“ Who do you mean? ”
j “ Matson. What right has he got to butt in
i at a college like Yale, and displace the fellows who
have worked hard for the nine? ”
; “ The right of ability, I suppose.”
“ Ability nothing ! He doesn’t belong here, and
I he ought to be made to quit.”
i “ Well, I confess I don’t like to lose the place
I worked so hard for, and I don’t see much chance
I of making the ’varsity now,” admitted Avondale;
I “ but at the same time I must give Matson credit]
I for his work.”
I “ Bah ! It’s only a flash in the pan. He can’t'
last. I think I could make him quit if I wanted
I to.”
■ “How?”
I62
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Would you join me in a little trick if we
could? ”
“I don’t know. What do you mean?” and
Avondale looked curiously at his companion.
“ I mean that red paint business and the spoiling
of the ancient manuscripts. If it was known who
did it he’d get fired.”
“ You don’t mean to say Matson had a hand in
that! ” cried Avondale aghast.
“ I’m not saying anything. But if it could be
shown that he did it, he’d not pitch for Yale —
that’s sure. Shall I say any more? Remember
I’m making no cracks yet. But I know some things
about Matson no one else knows.” This was true
enough, but Avondale did not take it in the sense
in which it could have been truthfully said, but,
rather, as Weston meant he should — wrongly.
Now Avondale had one fault. He was too
easily led. He was brilliant, full of promise, and
a jolly chap — hail-fellow-well-met with everyone,
and that is not the best thing in the world, though
it makes for temporary popularity. Avondale was
his own worst enemy, and many a time he had not
the courage to say “ no ! ” when the utterance of it
would have saved him from trouble. So when
Weston thus temptingly held out the bait, Avon-
dale nibbled.
“Shall I say any more?” went on the other. j
PLOTTING 163
Remember, you’ve got to be as tight as a drum
on this.”
“Of course. I — er — I — that is — — ”
“ Come over here and I’ll tell you something,”
went on the ’varsity pitcher, and the two were
soon in close conversation.
CHAPTER XIX
THE ANONYMOUS LETTER
*
“Have you seen the News?” gasped Jimmie
Lee, bursting into the room of Joe and his chum
one afternoon, following some baseball practice.
“ It’s great ! ”
“You mean have we heard the news; don’t
you?” questioned Spike. “You can hear news,
but not see it, that is unless the occurrence which
makes news happens to come under your own ob-
servation. Where is your logic, you heathen?
Seen news ! ”
“Yes, that’s what I mean!" snapped Jimmie.
“ I mean have you seen the last copy of the Yale
News?”
“ No ; what is it?” asked Joe quickly. “ Some-
thing about the baseball nine? ”
“No, it’s about those musty old manuscripts
that got spoiled the time Professor Hardee slipped
on his doorsteps in the red paint.”
“What about ’em?” demanded Joe, thinking
of the time he had seen Weston slipping into his
164
THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 165
room, trying to conceal his hand on which was a
scarlet smear. “What’s new?”
“ Why, it seems that some learned high-brow
society wrote on to borrow them, to prove or dis-
prove something that happened in the time of
Moses, and they had to be refused as the sheep-
skins are illegible. The powers that be tried to
clean off the paint, but it took some of the lettering
with it, and Prof. Hardee and some of his friends
are wild over the loss. The News says it’s irre-
parable, and there’s even an editorial on it.”
“Well, that isn’t much that’s new,” went on
Joe, as he took the college paper which Jimmie
held out to him. “ It was known before that the
parchments vrere pretty well on the blink. It’s a
shame, too, for they are the only ones in the world
of that particular dynasty. What else?”
“ Lots,” went on Jimmie. “ The News hints
that a committee of Seniors is working with
Professor Hardee and some of the faculty, trying
to find out who was responsible. If they do find
out they may make the joker’s folks pay heavy
damages.”
“Yes, if they find out,” put in Spike. “ But it
happened some time ago, and they haven’t got a
hint of it yet. It was a mean trick — I’ll say that
— but there are no welchers or squealers at Yale.”
“ I’m not so sure of that,” murmured Jimmie.
“ What do you mean? ” asked Joe quicWy.
i66
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Why this screed goes on to hint that the in-
vestigators have a line on who did it. They have
some dews, it seems, and an exposure is hinted
at.”
“ Get out! ” cried Joe, thinking of the effect it
would have on Weston should the truth — -as Joe
thought it — come out He had half made up his
mind to deny everything he had seen, even if
questioned.
“That’s right,” asserted Jimmie. “This arti-
de says it may soon be known who did the ‘ das-
tardly deed’ — note the ‘dastardly’ — guess the
editor dipped his pen in sulphuric acid. But it
was a mean trick, and I guess we all feel the same
way about it The fellow who did it ought to be
fired. Fun is fun, and I like it as much as any-
body, but this passes the limits.”
“ Right I ” exclaimed Spike. “ But does it say
anything about who it might be — what class?”
“Oh, it as much as says a Freshman did it, of
course — as if we did everything last year. Anyhow,
it’s stirred up a lot of talk, I can tell you. I just
came across the campus and the News sold more
copies than ever before, I guess. Everyone seems
to have one, and they’re all talking about it. I
hope If they do find out who did it, that he won’t
happen to be any of our crowd — or on the ball
nine.”
“Why?” asked Spike.
THE ANONYMOUS LETTER
167
“Why- — he’d be expelled, of course, aad if it
was one of the ’varsity nine it might have a bad
effect on winning the championship. We’ve got
to win that this year.”
“Oh, I guess it’s mostly talk,” asserted Spike,
as he read the article after Jo€ had finished. As
for Joe he said little. But he thought much.
“ Maybe,” agreed Jimmie. “And yet it looks
as if there was something back of it all. I only
hope there isn’t. It would be tough for our class
to have to stand for this.”
There was more talk along the same line, and,
a little later, some other of the second-year class
dropped in and continued the session. There were
differences of opinion, as might have been ex-
pected.
“Well, after all is said and done,” came from
Bert Post, who by reason of weight was ineligible
for the nine, but who was an enthusiastic sup-
porter, “ when it’s all over, I think we’ll wipe Am-
herst off the map.”
“We will — if the nine isn’t broken up,” de-
clared Jimmie.
“ Broken up — what do you mean? ” and Bert
glared at the questioner.
“I mean that if it’s proved that some member
of the team did this red paint business it’s all off
with him having a chance to play against Am-
herst.”
i68
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Oh, piffle!” declared Bert. “That punk is
written by some lad who’s trying to make good on
the News so he’ll get tapped for Scroll and Keys.
Forget it.”
But it was not so easily forgotten, for the arti-
cle seemed to have some definite knowledge behind
it, and the editorial, though student-inspired, as all
knew, was a sharp one.
“If it really is Weston I’m sorry for him,”
thought Joe, little thinking how near he himself
was to danger.
There were new developments the next morn-
ing-'— a certain something in the air as the young
men assembled for chapel told that there was
about to be a break. And it came.
“Here comes the Deanl” the whisper went
round, when the exercises were nearly over.
“ Something’s going to be cut loose.”
The Dean addressed the students. He began
mildly, but soon he had almost worked himself up
to a dramatic situation. In veiled terms he re-
ferred to the red paint outrage, and then, after
telling what it meant to have the valuable manu-
scripts ruined, he added :
“ I assume that you have all seen the article
which appears in the college paper. With that,
though I might, I take no issue. On another phase
I do.
“ I have received an ancmyrnous letter, accusing
THE ANONYMOUS LETTER 169
a certain student of the outrage. I shall, in this
matter, take the course I always do when I receive
such a cowardly communication as an anonymous
letter— I destroy it unread,” and, as he spoke the
Dean tore into fragments a piece of paper. The
pieces he carefully put in his pocket, however, with
the remark that they would be consigned to the
fire unlooked at, as soon as possible.
“ I wonder who was accused? ” said Spike.
“ I wonder ? ” added Joe.
Received
RtADtR’S SiRVlCE ^
I t,.,Mnn ^''SSStnf
Presb-
CHAPTER XX
THE CORNELL HOST
“That’s the way to do it!”
“Yale always can do it! ”
“ Bull dog grit 1 ”
“ The blue always wins ! ”
“ They came — they saw — but— we conquered f ”
It was the close of the Yale- Amherst baseball
game, and the sons of Eli had gloriously triumphed.
They had trailed the banners of their opponents
in the dust, they had raced around the bases, they
had batted the ball into the far corners of the
field, and they had raced home with the runs.
“ I told you so ! ” chirped Jimmie Lee.
“ Hold on ! ” cried Slim Jones. “ Didn’t you
start to be a calamity howler, and say Yale
wouldn’t win?”
“ Never! ” asserted Jimmie.
“Yes, you did! ”
“ Well, I was only bluffing. I knew we could
put it all over them.”
THE CORNELL HOST
171
“ And we did,” said Spike in a low voice to Joe.
“ Only— —
“Only I didn’t have much share in it,” inter-
rupted the aspirant for pitching honors.
There had indeed been a “ shake-up ” on the
nine the day of the game. Until the last moment
it was not definitely setded who would pitch, and
there were many rumors current. It lay between
Joe, Weston, and McAnls’i, the left-handed one,
and on the morning of the game — the first im-
portant one of the season for Yale — the news-
papers had various guesses as to who would be the
twirler.
Joe had hoped to go in at the start, but when
the game was called, and Captain Hatfield sub-
mitted his list, it was seen that Weston had the
coveted place.
“ Well, old man, you’re back where you belong,”
said Avondale to him, as the name was called. “ I
suppose now, tliat litde matter, which you were
speaking to me about, can drop ? ”
“ It can — if I remain pitcher,” answered Wes-
ton. “ But I’ve got it all cocked and primed to
explode if I have to. I’m not going to sit tight
and let some country whipper-snapper put it all
over me.”
“ I don’t know as I blame you— and yet he
seems a pretty decent sort.”
“ Oh, he’s not In our class ! ”
172
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Well, maybe not. Do your best! ”
And Weston did. Never had he pitched a bet-
ter game — even his enemies, and he had not a few,
admitted that. It was a “ walkover ” soon after
the first few innings had demonstrated the superi-
ority of Yale. Amherst was game, and fought to
the last ditch, but neither in batting, fielding nor
pitching was she tlie equal of the wearers of the
blue.
Joe, sitting on the bench, with the other substi-
tutes, fretted his heart out, hoping for a chance tc
play, but he was not called on until the eighth in-
ning. Then, after a conference of the coaches,
during whidh the head one could be seen to gesticu-
late vigorously, Joe was called on to bat in place
of another, which gave him the call to pitch the
next inning.
“ What’s the matter ? ” was asked on all sides.
“ Is Weston going stale? ”
“ Glass arm,” suggested some of his enemies.
“No, they’re saving him for the Harvard
game,” was the opinion of many. “They don’t
want to work him too hard.”
“ And we have this game anyhow.”
“ But what’s the matter with McAnish? ”
“ Oh, he’s out of form.”
And so Joe had gone in at the eleventh hour,
before that sitting on the bench, eating his heart
out.
UBRARY
THE CORNELL HOST
“ SLow what you can do ! ” exclaimed the ‘head
coach to him as he took the mound. “ And don’t
worry.”
“ Don’t worry?” repeated Joe.
“ That’s what I said. Remember what I told
you, and don’t try to win the game by merely
pitching.”
Joe recalled his instructions about backing up
first base in an emergency, of taking care of the
bunts, of watching the catcher, who might try ta
deceive the man on third.
And it was well for Joe that he did. For,
though he did well from the pitching end, there
came several opportunities to distinguish himself
in making infield plays. Once he made a fine stop
of a bunt that, had it been a safety, would have
done much to lower Yale’s lead. Again he man-
aged, by a quick play, on getting the ball from the
catcher, to throw out the man at second, who was-
trying to steal third. There was applause for Joe
Matson that day, though he did not pitch the team
to victory.
“Well?” asked Mr. Hasbrook of his col-
leagues, after the contest. “ What did I tell you?
Isn’t he an all-around good pkyer? ”
“He seems so,” admitted Mr. Benson. “But
I think Weston did most excellently.”
“ Yes, he did,” said the head coach, “ but mark
my words, he’s overtrained or he hasn’t the grit to
174
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
stick it out Here we are at the beginning of the
season, and he has failed us several times. I
don’t want to force my judgment on you gentle-
men, but I think we ought to give Matson a better
trial.”
“ All right, we’ll send him in earlier in the Cor-
nell game next week,” suggested Mr. Whitfield,
and to that the head coach agreed.
There were all sorts of baseball politics discussed
in the dormitories, on the campus, and at Glory’s
and other resorts that night.
“ It begins to look as if the coaches didn’t quite
know where they were at,” declared Ricky Han-
over. “ They make a shift at the last minute.”
“ A good shift — according to the way the game
went,” declared Hen Johnson, who held do'Wn
second base.
“ That’s yet to be seen,” asserted Jimmie Lee.
“Amherst was fruit for us to-day.”
The opinions went back and forth — pro and
con — and it was, after all, a matter of judgment.
Yet back of it all was the indomitable Yale spirit
that has often turned defeat into victory. This
was to hearten up those who picked flaws in the
playing of the blue, and who predicted a slump in
the following week, when the strong Cornell team
would be met.
“ Oh, Cornell may row us but site can’t play ball
THE CORNELL HOST
175
us,” declared Jimmie Lee. “We’ll dump ’em.”
“We may — if Joe Matson pitches,” spoke
Spike, in a low voice.
“ Here ! Cut that out,” advised Joe, in a shar|>
whisper.
Meanwhile no more had been heard about the
red paint matter, and it looked to be but a flash in
the pan— what the News had printed. The Senior
committee of investigation was not in evidence — r
at least as far as could be learned.
Baseball practice went on, sometimes Joe pitch-
ing for the ’varsity, and again one of his rivals
being called on. There was a tightening up on
the part of the coaches — they were less tolerant —
the errors were less excused. Bitter words were
the portion of those who made mistakes, and Joe
did not escape.
“You must do a little better,” the head coach
urged him. “We’re not playing school teams,
remember, but teams that are but little removed
from the professional class, as regards ability.
Play harder — sharper— more accurately — don’t
get rattled.”
And Joe tried to tell himself that he would do
or not do these things, but it was hard work. He
had begun to realize what a career he had marked
out for himself.
“Well, are you going to spring it?” asked
176 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
'Avondale of Weston, a day or so before the Cor-
nell game. “What about the red paint?”
“ Oh, I guess it will keep — if I pitch the game,”
was the answer.
“ Did you send the anonymous letter? ”
“ Don’t ask me,” snapped Weston.
The day of the next game came — one of the
great battles of the diamond, on the winning or
losing of which depended, in a measure, the gain-
ing of the championship.
The Cornell host, many strong, descended on
New Haven, and made the air vibrant with their
yells. They cheered Yale, and were cheered in
turn. /
Out OR the diamond they trotted — a likely look-
ing lot of lads.
“ Husky bunch,” commented Jimmie Lee.
“They sure are,” agreed Shorty Kendall.
“Who’ll pitch for you?”
“ Don’t know. They’re just going to announce
The umpire, the captains, managers, and
coaches were holding a conference. Joe, in spite
of his seeming indifference, watched them narrow-
ly. Over in their section the Cornell hosts were
singing their songs and giving their cheers.
The wearers of the blue had given their great
cry — they had sung the Boola song — some h^d
THE CORNELL HOST 177
jtven done tihe serpentine dance. All was in readi-
ness for the game.
“If he doesn’t pitch me,” murmured Weston,
“ I’ll be ”
Mr. Hasbrook motioned to the umpire, who
raised his megaphone to make the announcement.
CHAPTER XXI
EAGER HEARTS
“'IHE battery for Yale will be Weston and
Kendall, and for Cornell ”
But the last announcement was given no heed
by the supporters of the blue — at least by the play-
ers themselves, the substitutes, and Joe Matson in
particular. A murmur went around.
“Weston! Weston’s going to pitch! ”
“ After the work Baseball Joe’s done too I ”
“Why, Weston isn’t in form.”
“ Oh, he’s practiced hard lately.”
“Yes, and he was doing some hot warming-up
work a little while ago. I guess they’ll pitch him
all right.”
“ He must have put up a kick, and Hasbrook
gave in to him.” .
“It looks so, and yet Horsehide generally
doesn’t play a man unless he can make good.
That’s Yale’s way.”
These were only a few of the comments that
were being heard on all sides. The Yale team
looked somewhat amazed, and then, lest their
178
EAGER HEARTS
179
enemies find out that they feared they had a weak
spot, they braced up, smiled and acted as if it was
a matter of course. And, as far as Cornell was
concerned, they knew that there was rivalry be-
tween Weston and Joe, but as a pitcher is an un-
certain quantity at best, they were not surprised
that the ’varsity twirler whom they had faced the
season before should again occupy the mound. It
might be a part of the game to save Matson until
later.
“ Tough luck, Joe,” said Spikei, as he passed his
friend.
“ Yes— Oh, I don’t know! I hadn’t any right
to expect to pitch!”
Joe tried to be brave about it, but there was a
sore feeling in his heart. He had hoped to go
into the game.
“Sure you had a right to expect it! ” declared
Spike. “ You’re the logical pitcher. There’s been
some funny work going on, I’m sure. Weston has
pulled off something.”
“ Be careful, Spike.”
“ Oh, I’m sure of it. Why, look at Horsehide’s
face ! ”
Joe glanced at the head coach. Indeed the
countenance of Mr. Hasbrook presented a study.
He seemed puzzled as he turned away from a
somewhat spirited conversation with Mr. Ben-
son. For an instant his eyes met those of Joe,
i8o BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
and the young pitcher thought he read in them
pity, and yet a trace of doubt.
“ I wonder if he *has lost confidence in me ? ”
thought Joe. “ I wonder if he thinks I can’t pitch
in a big game ? ”
Yet he knew in his own heart that he had not
gone back- — ^he was sure he could pitch better than
he ever had before. The days at Yale, playing
with young men who were well-nigh professionals,
had given him confidence he had not possessed be-
fore, and he realized that he was developing good
control of the ball, as well as speed and curves.
“ I wonder why he didn’t pitch me ? ” mused Joe.
“ Play ball I ” called the umpire, and the hearts
of all were eager for the battle of stick and horse-
hide to begin. Cornell went to the bat first, and
Weston faced his man. There was a smile of con-
fidence on the pitcher’s face, as he wound up, and
delivered a few practice balls to Kendall. Then
he nodded as If satisfied, and the batter stepped
up to the plate.
“ Strike ! ” called the umpire, at the first deliv-
ery, and there was a murmur of amazement. The
batter himself looked a bit confused, but made no
comment. The ball had gone cleanly over the
plate, though it looked as if it was going to shoot
wide, and the player had thought to let it pass.
Weston smiled more confidently.
He was hit for a foul, but after getting three
EAGER HEARTS
i8r
and two he struck the batter out, and there was
a round of applause.
“I couldn’t have done it any better myself,”
said Joe, with honest praise for his rival.
“ Wait,” advised Spike. “ Weston’s got to last
over eight more innings to make good, and he’ll
never do it.”
But when he struck out tlhe next man, and the
third had retired on a little pop fly, Yale began to
rise in her might and sing the beginning of a song
of victory.
“ Oh, we’ve got the goods! ” her sons yelled.
“How’s that for pitching?” demanded someone.
Joe joined in the cheer that was called for Wes-
ton, but his heart was still sore, for he felt that
fihose cheers might have been for him. But he
was game, and smiled bravely.
Yale managed to get one run during the last half
of the first inning, and once more the sons of Eli
arose and sent forth a storm of cheers, songs and
college cries.
“ Go back home, Cornell 1 ” they screamed.
But the Cornell host smiled grimly. They were
fighters from start to finish.
Joe noticed that Weston did not seem quite so
confident when he came to the mound the second
time. There was an exchange of signals between
him and the catcher, and Weston seemed to be
refusing to do what was wanted. After getting
iSz
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
three and two on his man, the batter sent out a
high one that the left fielder was unable to connect
with, and the runner reached second.
“Never mind, play for the next one,” advised
Kendall, and though the runner stole third, Wes-
ton pitched the second man out. Then, whether it
was nervousness or natural inability cropping out
at the wrong time, was not known, but the pitcher
“ went up in the air.”
With only one out, and a man on third, he began
to be hit for disastrous results. He made wild
throws, and the whole team became so demoral-
ized that costly errors were made. The result was
that Cornell had four runs when the streak was
stopped.
“ We’ve got to do better than this,” declared
the head coach, as the Yale men came in to bat.
“ Rap out a few heavy ones. Show ’em what Yale
can do in a pinch.”
They tried, but Cornell was fighting mad now,
with the scent of victory to urge her players on.
The best Yale could do was two, leaving their op-
ponents one ahead at the beginning of the third.
And then Weston went to pieces more than
ever, though in the interval his arm had been
rubbed and treated by the trainer. He had com-
plained that it was stiff.
I shall not give all the details of that game.
Yale wanted to forget it after it was over. But
EAGER HEARTS
185
when, at the ending of the fifth Inning, the score
stood eight to four in favor of Cornell there was
a quick consultation among the coaches. What
was said could not be heard, but Mr. Hasbrook
seemed to be insisting on something to which the
other two would not agree. Finally Horsehide
threw up his hands in a gesture of despair.
“ Avondale, take the mound I ” he exclaimed.
“ Avondale 1” gasped the players. The scrub
pitcher to go in and Joe, who was his master,
kept on the bench? It was incredible.
“Well, what do you know about that?” de-
manded Spike. “ I’ve a good notion to ”
“ Be quiet ! ” begged Joe. “ They know what
they’re doing.”
But it seems they did not, for Avondale was
worse by far than Weston had been. He was hit
unmercifully, and three more runs came in. But
he had to stick it out, and when the miserable in-
ning for Yale ended he went dejectedly to the
bench.
Weston, who had been having his arm rubbed
again, and who had been practicing with a spare
catcher, looked hopeful. But this time, following
another conference of coaches, Mr. Hasbrook
evidently had his way. Fairly running over to
where Joe sat the head coach exclaimed:
“ Quick — get out there and warm up. You’ll
i 84 baseball joe AT YALE
pitch the rest of the game. It’s a forlorn hope,
but we’ll take it! ”
Joe’s face shone as he ripped off his sweater,
grabbed up a ball and his mitt, and started for
the practice stretch. His heart was In a tumult,
but he calmed himself and began his work.
But it was too much to expect to pull the con-
test out of the fire by such desperate and late-day
methods. In the part of the game he pitched Joe
allowed but one hit, and with howls of delight his
friends watched him mow down the Cornell bat-
ters. Not another run came in, but the lead of the
visitors was too big, and Yale could not overcome
it, though her sons did nobly, rising to the sup-
port of Joe in great style.
“ Well, it’s over,” remarked Spike gleefully as
he caught Joe’s arm at the close of the contest.
“You seem glad that Yale lost,” said the
pitcher.
“Never! But I’m glad you showed ’em what
you could do when you had the chance. If you’d
gone in first Yale would have won ! ”
“ Oh, you think so- — do you ? ” sneered a voice
behind them. They turned quickly, to see Ford
Weston, scowling with rage.
“ Yes, I do,” declared Spike boldly.
“ Then you’ve got another think coming ! ” was
the retort. “ I’m the ’varsity pitcher, and I’m
going to hold on to the job I ”
CHAPTER XXII
THE CRIMSON SPOT
“What do you think of him, anyhow?” asked
Spike of his room-mate, as Weston passed on.
“ Isn’t he the limit ! ”
“ He certainly doesn’t seem to care much for
me,” replied Joe, with a grim smile. “ But I sup-
pose it’s natural. Almost anyone would feel tihat
way at the prospect of being replaced.”
“ Oh, he makes me tired I ” exclaimed Spike.
“ He ought to stand for Yale — not for Ford Wes-
ton. It’s the first time in a good many years that
any player has placed himself above the team.”
“ But Weston hasn’t done that yet.”
“ No, but that’s what he’s scheming for. He as
good as said that he’ll pitch for the ’varsity no
matter what happens.”
“Who’s that? What’s up?” asked another
voice, and, turning, the two chums saw Ricky Han-
over. “Oh, you’re talking about Weston,” he
' added, as he noted the defeated pitcher walking
away. “ What’s he been saying? ”
They told him, and Ricky, making a wry face,
went on:
i8s
i86
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ So that’s how things are; eh? Well, if Wes-
ton tries that sort of game, I can see the finish of
the Yale nine. It’ll be the tail end of the kite,
and the championship will be in the soup. In fact
it’s beginning to gravitate that way now, with the
loss of this Cornell game.”
“But where does Weston get his pull?” de-
manded Spike. “How is it that they put him in
to-day, when it was almost known that he couldn’t
make good. And 'here was Joe all ready to go
■on the mound. You saw what he did when he
got there and yet ”
“ Spare my blushes ! I’m a modest youth ! ”
laughed Joe.
“ That’s all right, there’s something back of all
this,” continued Spike, vigorous in defence of his
chum. “Why should the coaches put Weston in,
and then, when he slumped, call on Avondale
before they did you, Joe? It isn’t right, and I
think Horsehide should have made a better fight
for you. You claim he’s a friend of yours, Joe.”
“Well, yes, in a way. And yet if I had to de-
pend on his friendship to get on the mound I’d
never go there. I want to stand on my own feet
and have the right to pitch because I can do better
than some other fellow. That’s all I ask — a fair
show. I don’t want any favors, and Mr. Has-
brook isn’t the man to give them to me, if I’d take
them.”
THE CRIMSON SPOT
187
“ I guess you’re right there,” commented Ricky.
“ But what I can’t understand,” went on Spike,
“ is how Horsehide seemed to give in to the other
two coaches. It was as plain as a flagpole that he
didn’t want to pitch Weston to-day, and yet he
had to in spite of himself. Why was it? ”
“ Do you really want to know? ” asked Ricky,
and his voice was lowered, while he glanced around
as if to make sure that no one would hear him save
his two friends. “ Do you really want to know? ”
“ Certainly,” declared Spike, and Joe wondered
what was coming.
“Well, it’s because Weston is a member of the
Anvil Club,” said Ricky. “It’s a class secret
society, and it has a lot of influence — more so
than even some of the big Senior clubs. Weston
belongs and so do Horsehide and the other two
coaches. They were in college, and they still keep
up their affiliations. Now you know why they
pitched Weston to-day — because he demanded it
as a part of his right as a member of the Anvil
Club.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” asked Spike, “that
the secret society is bigger than Yale — that it
could make her lose a ball game ? ”
“No, not exactly,” replied Ricky. “But it is
powerful, and a member has an unwritten right to
demand almost anything In reason of the other
i88
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
members, and by their promises made they are
obliged to help him.”
“ But this wasn’t anything in reason,” said Spike.
“ Joe should have pitched the game, and then we’d
have won. It was unreasonable to let Weston go
in.”
“ Look here ! ” exclaimed Ricky. “ I don’t mean
to say that Yale men would do any underhand
work to make any athletic contest go by the board.
But you can’t say, right off the bat, that Weston’s
demand was unreasonable. He thought he could
pitch to a victory, and he probably said as much,
very forcibly. It was a chance that he might, and,
when he appealed for a try, on the ground that he
was an Anvil man— they had to give it to him,
that’s all. It was all they could do, though I guess
Horsehide didn’t want to.”
“ But there’s Avondale,” went on Ricky. “ What
about him ? ”
“ He’s an Anvil man, too.”
“ And I’m not, ” b roke in Joe. “ Say, ” he asked
with a laugh, “ how do you join this society? ”
“ You don’t,” spoke Ricky solemnly. “ You
have to be asked, or tapped for it, just as for
Wolf’s Head, or Skid! and Bones. Oh, it’s an
exclusive society all right, and as secret as a dark
ceUar.”
“And you really know this to be so?” asked
Spike, almost incredulously.
THE CRIMSON SPOT
“Well, no one says so out and out, but I’ve
heard rumors before, and to-day they were strong
enough to hear without a megaphone. Oh, Wes-
ton’s got the thing cinched all right.”
“Then I haven’t a chance,” sighed Joe, and
more than ever he regretted coming to Yale. Yet,
deep in his heart, was a fierce desire to pitch the
college to a championship,
“ Haven’t a chance ! ” cried Spike, indignantly.
“ Do you mean to say, Ricky, that they’ll let Wes-
ton go on losing games the way he did to-day? ”
“No, not exactly. But they’ll pitch him be-
cause he will appeal to their society side, and bam-
boozle ’em into thinking that he has come back
strong, and can sure win.”
“ And if he doesn’t — ^if he slumps as he did to-
day?”
“ Then they’ll put in Avondale or McAnish.”
“And Joe won’t get a show until last? ” asked
Spike.
“ That’s about the size of it,”
“ I don’t believe so.”
“All right. Just watch,” said Ricky, with a
shrug of his shoulders. “Of course, ” he went on,
“ the coaches may wake up to the fact before it’s
too late, or there may be such a howl made that
they’ll have to can the society plea. But it’s a
queer situation. Come on down to Glory’s and
we’ll feed our faces.”
library
190 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Wait until we get un-togged,” suggested Spike,
for he, too, had on a unifonn, hoping for a chance
to play. But it had not come.
It was late when Joe and his chum got back to
their room. They had met congenial spirits at
the popular resort, and a sort of post-mortem had
been held over the game. But, though the faults
of many players were pointed out, and though Joe
received due praise for his work, little had been
said of Weston’s poor pitching.
“ It’s just as I told you,” declared Ricky.
“ There are too many members of the Anvil Club,
and affiliated societies, and they hate to hurt Wes-
ton’s feelings, I guess.”
The ’varsity pitcher was not present.
“Well, it sure is a queer state of affairs,” com-
mented Spike, as he and Joe reached their apart-
ment. “ I wish we could do something. It’s a
shame, with a pitcher who has your natural abili-
ties, Joe, that ”
“ Oh, forget it, old man, and go to sleep,” ad-
vised Joe. “ I’m much obliged for your interest
in me, but maybe it will come out right after all.”
“Humph! It won’t unless we make it,” mur-
mured Spike.
The coaches tried some shifting about of play-
ers when the next practice came on, though Wes-
ton was still retained on the mound. Joe was told
to go in at shortstop, and he made good there*
THE CRIMSON SPOT
igi
more by hard work than natural ability, for he
wanted to show that he would do his duty wher-
ever he was placed. Weston seemed to be doing
better, and he got into more plays, not being con-
tent to merely pitch.
“Well trim Harvard!” was l3ie general
opinion, and Yale stock, that had gone down, took
an upward move.
The Harvard game was soon to come — one of
the contests in the championship series, though
Yale generally regarded the fight with Princeton
as the deciding test.
It was one afternoon following some sharp
practice, when the Varsity seemed on edge, that
Joe said to Spike :
“ Come on, let’s take a walk. It’s too nice to
go back and bone.”
“ All right — I’m wifh you. We’ll geit out in the
country somewhere.”
Weston passed as this was said, and though he
nodded to the two, there was no cordiality in it.
Joe and Spike thoroughly enjoyed their little
excursion, and it was almost dusk when they re-
turned. As they entered their room, Ricky came
out to greet them.
“ What have you fellows been doing? ” he de-
manded. “ I came in to have a chat, and I found
your room empty. A little later I heard you in it,
and then, after I had found my pipe which I
192 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
dropped under the bed, and went in again, you
weren’t to be seen. Yet I was sure I heard you
moving about in it.”
“We haven’t been home since practice,” des
dared Spike.
“You say you heard someone in our room?”
inquired Joe.
“I sure did.”
“ Maybe it was Ebppy.”
“ No, for I asked*him, and he said no.”
“Any messages or letters left?” asked Spike,
looking around, but no missives were in sight.
“ Oh, well, maybe it was spooks,” declared Joe.
“I’m going to get on something comfortable,”
and he went to the clothes closet, presently donning
an old coat and trousers. Ricky made himself
comfortable in an armchair, and the three talked
for some time.
“ I say, what’s that on your sleeve ? ” asked
Ricky of Joe during a pause. “ It looks like red
ink. See, you’ve smeared Spike’s trigonometry
with it.”
“Quit it, you heathen!” -exdaimed the ag-
grieved one.
“ Red ink,” murmured Joe, twisting his sleeve
around to get a look at the crimson spot. He
touched it with his finger. “It’s paint — red
paint I” he exdaimed, “and it’s fresh! ”
CHAPTER XXIII
joe’s triumph
“Red paint!” exclaimed Ricky.
“ Who put it there ? ” asked Spike, and he
looked queerly at Joe.
“Not I,” replied the pitcher. “And yet it’s
fresh. I can’t understand. You say you heard
someone in here, Ricky? ”
“ As sure as guns.”
“ Maybe it was some of those pesky Freshies
trying some of their funny work,” suggested Spike.
“ Hazing and tricks are about over,” came from
Joe, as he looked more closely at the red spot.
“And yet someone seems to have been in here,
daubing up my clothes. I wonder if they tried it
on any more? Lucky it was an old suit.”
He looked in the closet, but the coat, with the
crimson spot on the sleeve, seemed to be the only
one soiled.
“ I have it ! ” suddenly cried Spike.
“What, for cats’ sake?” asked Ricky.
“It’s good luck! ”
193
194
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Good luck? ” demanded Joe. “ How do you
make tihat out? These aren’t my glad rags, that’s
a fact, but still paint is paint, and I don’t want it
daubed all over me. Good luck ? Huh ! ”
“ Of course it is,” went on Spike. “ Don’t you
see ? That’s red — Harvard’s hue. We play them
next week, you’ll pitch and we’ve got their color
already. Hurray! We’re going to win! It’s an
amen I ”
“ Caesar’s pineapples ! ” exclaimed Ricky. “ So
It is. I’m going to grind out a song on it,” and,
having rather a knack with verse, he was soon scrib-
bling away in rhyme. “How’s this?” he de-
manded a few minutes later. “Listen fellows,
and pick out a good tune for it,” and he recited:
“We’ve got Harvard’s colors,
We’ll tell it to you.
The red always runs
At the sight of the blue.
So cheer boys, once more.
This bright rainbow hue.
The Red will turn purple
When mixed with the blue I ”
“Eh? How’s that?” he asked proudly.
“ Pretty nifty I guess! Your Uncle Pete isn’t so
slow. Fm going to have the fellows practice this
for the game, when you pitch, Joe.”
'I
JOE’S TRIUMPH
195
Maybe I won’t.”
“ Oh, yes you will. But what do you think of
it?”
“ Rotten 1 ” exclaimed Spike.
“ Punk! ” was the opinion of Slim Jones, who
had entered in time to hear the verse. “ Disin-
feet it, Ricky.” _
“ Aw, you fellows are jealous because you can t
sling the muse around when you want to. Guess
I’ll try a second spasm.”
“ Not in here,” declared Spike, quickly. 1 his
is a decent, law-abiding place, and, so far, has a
good reputation. I’m not going to have the Dean
raiding it just because you think you’re a poe^
That stuff would give our English Lit. prof, a chul.
Can it, Ricky, can it.” . _
“You’re jealous, that’s all,” and despite the
protest Ricky proceeded to grind out a second
verse, that he insisted on reading to his audience,
which, by this time had increased to half a dozen
lads from neighboring rooms. There was quite a
jolly little party, and Ricky demanded that they
sing his new song, which they finally did, with more^
or less success.
The strains wafted out of doors and passing
students were attracted by the sound until the
place was swarming with congenial spirits, and
nothing was talked of but the coming game with
Harvard.
§
196 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ It’s queer though, about that red paint,” said
Spike, later that night, when be and Joe were
alone.
“ It sure is,” agreed the pitcher.
“ Maybe Hoppy sent someone around to do a
iL.it of daubing, and the chap got in here by mis-
take,” suggested his chum. But inquiry developed
that this was not so, and the mystery remained un-
solved for a time.
But after he got in bed, Joe did some hard
thinking. He recalled the red paint episode of the
spoiled manuscript, and wondered, without believ-
ing, if Weston could have come to his room.
“ He might have,” reflected Joe, “ and he might
have had a hardened spot of red paint on his
clothes from daubing it on the steps that time. If
the hardened upper crust rubbed off, it would
leave a fresh spot that mi^t have gotten on my
coat. And yet what would he be doing in my
closet, let alone in the room here? No, it can’t
be that. Unless he sneaked in here — ^knowing
Spike and I would be away — looking for some-
thing to use against me.
“ He doesn’t want me to pitch, that’s a fact, and
if he could find something against me he’d use it.
But he can’t. I’m glad I’m not a candidate for
any of their queer secret societies here, or I’d be
worrying about them not asking me to join. I’m
JOE’S TRIUMPH
going to keep out of it. But that red spot is sure
queer.”
All Yale was on edge on the day before the Har-
vard game, which was to take place on the Cam-
bridge diamond. The team and the substitutes
were trained to the minute, and all ready to make
the trip, together with nearly a thousand “rooters”
who were going along to lend moral support. Par-
ticular pains had been taken with the pitching staff,
and Joe, Weston, McAnish and Avondale had
been worked to the limit. They had been coached
as they never had been before, for Yale wanted to
win this game.
As yet it was not known who would pitch. At
least Ae Varsity candidates did not know, and
Joe was hoping for at least half a game. He was
modest, for Weston arrogantly declared that he
would last the nine innings. His friends said little,
but he had a certain power in college not to be
overlooked.
The stadium was thronged with spectators as
the teams trotted out for a litde warming-up prac-
tice. In the cheering stands for the wearers of the
blue the locomotive cry, the Boola song, a new one
— “Bulldog Grit!” — and Ricky’s effusion were
gone over again. “ Hit the Line 1 ” came as a
retort, and the cheerers tried to outdo each other.
“ Do you think you’ll pitch, Joe? ” asked Spike,
198 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
in a low tone, as he and his chum practised off to
one side.
“ I don’t know. There are all sorts of rumors
going about I’d like to — I guess you know how
much — just as you would like to catch — ^but we
can’t'always have what we want. The coaches are
having a talk now. Weston seems pretty confident.
“Yes, the cadi I wish he’d play fair.”
“ Oh, well,” said Joe, with an air of resignation,
“ I suppose he can’t help it. I guess I shouldn’t
like it if I’d pitched for a year, and then found a
new man trying for my place.”
“ But if the new man was better than you, and
it meant the winning of the game ? ” asked Spike,
as he took a vicious ball that Joe slugged to him.
“ Oh, well, of course in theory the best man
ought to play — that’s not saying I’m the best man
by a long shot I ” Joe hastened to add; “but even
in theory it’s hard to see another man take your
place.”
“ Something’s doing,” said Spike suddenly.
“The conference has broken up.”
* Joe looked nervously to where the coaches and
captain had been talking. Tom Hatfield was but-
toning on his shortstop glove, and then taking it
off again as though under a strain.
He walked over to the umpire, and Weston,
seeing him, made a joking remark to a companion.
He started for the players’ bench, for Harvard
JOE’S TRIUMPH 199
was to bat last, and Yale would come up first for
the stick-work.
“ It looks like him,” remarked Spike in a low
voice.
“Well, I’ll be ready when they call me,” said
Joe, with a good nature he did not feel.
The umpire raised his megaphone. There was
a hush, and then came the hollow tones ;
“ Batteries for to-day. Harvard : Elkert and
Snyder — ^Yale: Matson and Kendall.”
“ By Halifax ! ” cried Spike, clapping Joe on the
back with such force that he nearly knocked over
his chum. “ You pitch, old man I ”
Rscfiived from
READER’S SER'^iCE
Presll- Beard of f ;'r*isn Wis-'Hni
CHAPTER XXIV
HARD LUCK
Shouts and yells greeted the announcement of
the umpire — cheers from the admirers of the re-
spective batteries.
“Yahl” voiced the wearers of the crimson.
“That’s our one best bower! Oh you ElkertI
Tear ’em apart, Snyder! ”
Back came the challenge from the sons of Yale.
“ You’re our meat, Harvard ! Keep your eye
on the ball — ^that’s all you’ll be able to dp. Fool
’em, Matson. ’Rah for Baseball Joe ! ”
Our hero was becoming quite a favorite with his
classmates, many of whom now knew of his one
ambition. But Kendall had his admirers too.
“ He eats ’em alive — Shorty Kendall does ! ”
came the cry. “ Look out for our bear-cats. Har-
vard!”
Once more came a riot of cheers and songs, each
college group striving its best to outdo the other,
giving its favorite cries or songs.
“ Come, get together, you two, and make sure
HARD LUCK
2ai
you don’t have any mix-up on signals,” exclaimed
Mr. Hasbrook to Joe and the catcher. “We want
to win this game. And, Joe, don’t forget what I
told you about getting in on all the plays you can.
We’ll need every man if we take this game. Har«
yard has several good twirlers, and she’s been
playing like a house afire. Watch yourselves.”
“ Then I’m really going to pitch? ” asked Joe.
It was almost the only thing he had said since hear-
ing the announcement, after Spike had clapped
him on the back with such force.
“ Pitch! Of course you’re going to pitch,” de-
clared the head coach. “ And I want you to pitch
your head off. But save your arm, for there are
going to be more games than this. But, mind! ”
and he spoke with earnestness. “You’ve got to
make good ! ”
“ I will! ” exclaimed Joe, and he meant it.
“ Come over here,” suggested Shorty. “ Plug in
a few and we’ll see if you’re as good as you were
yesterday,” for Joe and he had had considerable
practice, as, in fact, had all the pitchers, including
Westo-n. As for that lad, when he heard the an-
nouncement a scowl shot across his face, and he
uttered an exclamation.
“ What’s the matter? ” asked De Vere, who had
become rather intimate with Ford of late.
“ Matter ! Isn’t there enough when that — ^when
he pitches ? ” and he nodded his head toward Joe.
202
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Why; do you think they’ll get his goat, or that
he’ll blow, and throw the game?”
“He might,” sneered Weston, “but I have a
right to be on the mound to-day. I was half prom-
ised that I could pitch, and now, at the last minute,
they put him in. I’m not going to stand for it I ”
“ It’s a sort of a raw deal,” declared his friend.
“ I don’t see why they let such fellows as he come
to college. First we know there’ll be a lot of hod-
carriers’ sons here instead of gentlemen,” and De
Vere turned up, as far as possible, the point of his
rather stubby nose. He himself was the son of a
man who had gotten his start as a contractor, em>
ploying those same “ hod-carriers ” at whom the
son now sneered.
“That’s right," agreed Weston. “I should
think they could keep Yale a little more exclusive.”
“ I agree with you,” came from the other.
“ Why I even understand that they are talking of
forming a club where even those who eat at com-
mons, and are working their way through, can
join. It’s going to be fierce. But none of them
will get in the Blue Ribbon Association,” he added,
referring to an exclusive college organization.
“Nor the Anvil Club either,” added Weston.
“ This is all Hasbrook’s fault. He’s taken some
silly notion to Matson, and he thinks he’s a won-
derful pitcher. It seems they met somewhere, and
HARD LUCK 2o«
Matson did him a favor. Now he’s taking advan-
tage of it.”
“ But he can pitch,” said De Vere, who, for all
his snobbishness, was inclined to be fair.
“Yes, after a fashion, but he hasn’t anything
on me. I won against Harvard last year.”
“ So you did.”
“And I could do it again.”
“ I believe you. Anyhow I think only the fel-
lows in our own class — socially — should play. It
makes it rather awkward, don’t you know, if you
meet one of the team out anywhere, and he isn’t
in your set. You’ve got to notice him, or there’d
be a howl, I s’pose ; but really some of the fellows
are regular clod-hoppers, and this Matson doesn’t
train in with us.”
“You’re right. But if things go the way I
think he may not last very long.”
“How do you mean? Will he put up such a
rotten game that they won’t stand for him ? ”
“That’s all I can say now,” rejoined Weston,
somewhat mysteriously. “ But something may hap-
pen.”
“And you’ll pitch?”
“ I hope so. I may get in this game, for I did
beat Harvard one year.” But Weston forgot to
add that he pitched so wretchedly the remainder
of the season that Yale finished a poor third, los-
ing the championship.
204 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ Play ball ! ” called the umpire. Those who
had been practicing straggled to the bench, or
walked out to take their fielding positions.
“ I guess you’ll do,” declared Kendall to Joe,
with a nod of encouragement. Don’t let em get
your Angora.”
“ I’ll try not to,” came the smiling answer. “Are
they hard hitters ? ”
“ They are if they get the ball right, but it’s up
to you not to let ’em. Give ’em twisters and
♦•easers.”
“ Play ball,” called the umpire again, and the
first of the Yale batsmen took his place. Once
more came the yells and cheers, and when the lad
struck out, which he did with an ease that cha-
grined his mates, there was derisive yelling from
the Harvard stands.
“Two more and we’ve got ’em going! ” was
shouted.
But Jimmie Lee, the dimutive first baseman, was
up next, and perhaps the Harvard pitcher did not
think him a worthy foeman. At any rafe Jimmie
caught a ball just where he wanted it, and rapped
out a pretty two-bagger.
“That’s the way! Come on in! ” was shouted
at him, but Jimmie caught the signal to hug the
half-way station, and stayed there. He stole third
while they were throwing his successor out at first,
9nd this made two down, with Jimmie ready to
HARD LUCK
205
come in on half a chance. But the Harvard pitch-
er tightened up, and the fourth man succumbed to
a slow twister on his final strike, making the third
out, so that poor Jimmie expired on the last sack.
“ Now, Joe, show ’em that we can do better than
that,” begged Shorty, as he donned mask and pro-
tector. “ Throw me a few and warm up. Then
sting ’em in ! ”
Joe was a bit nervous as he went to the box,
but he managed to control himself. He seemed
to guess just what kind of a ball would fool the
batter, and, after two balls had been called on him,
sent over two in succession that were named strikes.
“ That’s the way we do it I ” yelled a Yale ad-
mirer, in a high-pitched voice. “ One more and
he’s done.”
But the one more did not come. Instead, ap-
parently getting the ball just where he wanted it,
the Harvard man swung on it to the tune of three
sacks, amid a wild riot of cheers.
“ Now we’ve got ’em going! ” came Harvard’s
triumphant yells, and Joe felt the hot blood rush
to his face. Kendall saw it, and, guessing the
pitcher’s state of mind, walked out to the box and
whispered ;
“ Don’t mind. That was a fluke. It won’t hap-
pen again. Hold on to yourself — tighten up and
we’ll get ’em.”
Joe felt better after that bit of advice, and was
206
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
calmer when he wound up for the next batter.
Though he had been told that Harvard would play
a foxy game, he was hardly prepared for w'hat fol-
lowed. The next player up hit lightly, for a sacri-
fice, thinking to bring in the run. As it happened,
Joe stumbled as he raced to pick up the twisting
ball, and though he managed to recover himself,
and throw home, while on his knees, the man rac-
ing from third beat the throw and the first run for
Harvard was in. Then such cheering as there was !
Yale was nonplussed for the moment, and her
rooters in the stands sat glum and silent. But the
spirit of the blue could not long be kept down, and
soon the Book song came booming over the field.
It cheered Joe mightily, even though he saw the
sneering look on the face of Weston, who sat on
the bench, hoping for a chance to supplant him.
“ Here’s where we walk away ! ” crowed a Har-
vard man, but the wearers of the crimson did not,
for that run was the only one they got that inning.
But it was a start, and it looked big below the goose
egg that adorned Yale’s score.
The game went on, varyingly. Yale managed
to get two runs in the fifth inning, putting her one
ahead, for Joe had done such good work, aided by
the rest of the team, when a hit was made, that
Harvard had not scored again.
“Matson’s pitching a great game!” exclaimed
Mr. Hasbrook, as he watched eagerly. “ I told
HARD LUCK
207
u we wouldn’t make any mistake it we let him
in first,” and he looked at his colleagues.
“But that was a costly fumble,” declared Mr.
mson. . 1 1
“ v»c, knj- nn one is oerfect. Besides we re
“ That’s enough to win tne game.
‘‘ But hardly with four more innings to go, re-
ioined Mr. Whitfield, dubiously. _
“ Look at that ! ” exclaimed Mr. Hasbrook, m
excitement, as Joe grabbed a hot liner and whipped
it over to first In time to catch the man napping
there. “ Matson’s more than just a pitcher.
“You seem interested in him,” spoke Mr. Ben-
“I am. I think Joe Is going to make one of the
finest ball players we’ve ever had at Yale. He
hasn’t found himself yet, of course, and he needs
more judgment. But he’s got a future. I think
we’ll hear of him somewhere else besides on a col-
lege team, too.” ^ . „
“ I understand he has professional ambitions,
admitted Mr. Benson. “ But he’s got a hard life
ahead of him.”
«ni, kp'll make eood!” declared Mr. Has-
io8 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
Harvard only found him for scattering hits.
On. her part Yale was doing very well. Har-
vard had tried another pitcher when she found that
her first one was being pounded, but it availed little,
and when the ninth inning closed, as far as the
wearers of the blue were concerned, they were two
runs ahead.
“We’ve got ’em! We’ve got ’em!” yelled
Shorty with delight, capering about Joe. “All
you’ve got to do is to hold ’em down ! ”
“ Yes — all — ^but that’s a lot,” declared the pitch-
er. “ They’re going to play fierce now.”
“ But they need three runs to win. You can hold
’em down ! ”
“ I’ll try,” promised Joe, as he went to the
mound.
It looked as if he was going to make good, but
luck, that element that is always present in games,
especially in baseball, deserted the blue for the
red. The first man up knocked a long, high fly to
deep centre. So sure was he, as well as everyone
else, that it would be caught, that the player hard-
ly ran, but the ball slipped through the fingers of
Ed. Hutchinson as if it had been greased, and the
man was safe on second.
“ Now we’ve got ’em going,” came the cry. “ A
couple more hits and we’ve got the game.”
Joe was wary, but he was playing against ess*
perienced youths, and when he found the man on
second trying to steal third he threw down, hoping
to catch him. His throw was wild, the baseman
jumped for it in vain, and the runner went on to
third.
“Never mind — ^play for the batter,” advised
Shorty.
Joe did, but somehow he could not get the right
twist on the ball. He was hit for a single, and
the man on third scored.
“ Two more and we’ve got ’em I ” yelled the de-
lighted wearers of the crimson. “None down
yet.”
Then, whether it was the effect of luck, or be-
cause the Yale team was hypnotized by the wear-
ers of the crimson, was not manifest; but cer-
tain it was that the blue players went to pieces.
It was not Joe’s fault— at least not all his, though
he made one error. But this seemed to affect all
the Yale team, and the result was a vrild finish on
the part of Harvard that put them two runs to the
good, winning the game.
“Hard luckl” exclaimed Shorty, in a dejected
foice, as he took off his glove and mask. “ Hard
.kcki”
CHAPTER XXV
AT WEST POINT
“We'd a right to that game! ”
“ Sure we had.”
“ And we did have it in the refrigerator, only i|
got out through the drain pipe, I guess.”
“It’s tough luck!”
The Yale team and Its admirers — ^no, in this
case its sympathizers — ^were coming off the ffield
after the Harvard defeat. All sorts of comments,
excuses, philosophical expressions, and revilings at
fate, were heard. Joe said but litrie, though he
thought much. Every error — every little point he
had missed — seemed to stand out glaringly. .
“ Never mind, old man I ”
It was Spike who spoke, putting his arm affec*
tionately around his dium’s shoulders.
“ I — I can’t help it," replied the pitcher, bitterly.
“We lost the game.”
“That’s just it — we did- — not you. Caesar’s
ghost, man! You can’t carry the whole blame of
losing the game, any more than you can claim the
210
SiitS:'
AT WEST POINT
wMole credit when we win. Its ail m me aay s
work.”
“ I know, but ,
“‘But me no huts,’ now Joe. Just brace up.
This is only one of the championship games.
There are more to come, and we’ll get enough to
put us on top of the heap. _ I only wish I had your^
chances to perform in public. ,.
“ I wish you had, Spike. But I guess this was
mv last chance.” ,
“Nonsense! They’ll play you again. Why
Weston — or Avondale either, for that ^matter
woudn’t have done half as well, I
“ Oh, so that’s your opinion; is it? snapped a
voice behind them. There was no need to turn
tnow fhat Weston was there, and it took but a
312 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ I have, but after the way things went to pieces
in the last inning I don’t know what to think.”
“ Oh, bosh I If you’d had anything like decent
support it never would have happened. Hutchin-
son mufiing that ball started us down hill.
“ That’s what! ” chimed in Jimmie Lee, coming
along just then. “ This is only one game the for-
tunes of war. ^^e’ll beat ’em next time; wallop
Princeton, and take the championship.
“ West Point is next on the list,” went on Joe.
“ I wonder what sort of a game they play? ”
“ Like clockwork,” explained Spike. I saw
one, once, and they put it all over Y ale. But we’ve
got to win this one.”
“ That’s what 1 ” declared Jimmie. “ I say, _ I
know a nice place where we can get a dandy rabbit.
Let’s stay over to-night. I can stand some cuts,
we’ll take in a show, and have supper after it.
Come on, and we can go to New Haven in the
morning.”
“ No, I guess I’ll go back with the team, said
Joe, slowly. “They might think I was trying to
dodge if I sneaked off. I’ll go back with the rest.
“ All right — then we’ll go to Glory’s and have a
feed,” insisted Jimmie. “ I’ve got to do something
to raise my spirits.”
They went to the dressing rooms, and soon the
players and their friends were moving to the hotel
where they had stopped.
AT WEST POINT
213
Yale had cheered her successful rivals, and had
been cheered in turn, and now, as the team walked
through the Cambridge streets they heard, on all
sides of them, the jubilant expressions that told of
joy over the victory. To Joe it was gall and worm-
wood, for, in spite of the efforts of his friends
to make him feel better, he half blamed himself
for the defeat
On the way home in the special train he was
gloomy and silent, but later, when he and his chums
went to the well-known resort, and heard the Yale
songs, and saw the jolly faces of the students —
jolly in spite of the defeat — -he felt better.
“ It’s only once in a while that the bulldog loses
his grip,” declared Ricky Hanover. “We’ll get
a strangle hold on the rest of the games and come
out on top of the heap.”
College life resumed its usual routine after this
big game. There were others in prospect, though,
and practice went on unceasingly.
Joe half feared he would be displaced from his
position on the ’varsity, but he was not. True,
Weston and Avondale were called on at times, for
the policy of the coaches was to have the best
pitchers always in reserve. But Joe seemingly
was the first one to be called on. Nor did Mr.
Hasbrook reproach him, personally, for the de-
feat.
All the players received h calling down for their
214
baseball joe at YALE
loose methods in the Harvard game, and their
faults were pointed out in no uncertain fashion, in
a way the loss of the contest did good, for, follow-
ing it, the practice was snappier than it had been
in a long while. , , , • ,
“ We want to defeat the army lads ! exclaimed
the head coach. a few days before the West Point
game. , ,
Contrary to the general custom the two who
were to pitch and catch were announced the^ night
before. It was at a meeting of the team, during
which the coaches gave some good advice, Joe
saw Weston in close conversation with Mr. Ben-
son and Mr. Whitfield, and he had a fear that the
deposed pitcher was trying to “ pull strings and
make a place for himself.
“Of course you’ll pitch, Matson, ^ said Mr.
Hasbrook, in such a matter-of-fact voice that Joe
was rather startled. “ And Kendall will catch.
There was a murmur, possibly at the remem-
brance of the Harvard game, but no one said any-
thing. Joe, who sat beside Spike, whispered:
“ I wonder when you’ll get your chance?
“ Oh, some day, maybe,” was the answer. “ I
can wait. I’m glad you’ve had yours.
“ I must make good, though,” declared Joe, halt
fearful that he would not.
They arrived at West Point to be enthusiastical-
ly greeted by the cadets, who took charge of the
AT WEST POINT 215
teani) the substitutes and the “ rooters in right
royal f ashion. A big crowd had assembled, and as
the day was a fine one there was every prospect of
a game that would be all that was desired. ^
“ I wonder if we’ll win? ” mused Joe, as he got
into his uniform and started out on the field. The
cadets were already at practice, and showed up
“ A fine, snappy lot of fellows,” observed Jini'-
T pp “ We’ve got our work cut out all right.
X AJLW-l. -
As Joe left the dressing room, he saw Weston
talking to Mr. Benson, who was having a conver-
sation with the trainer. The former ’varsity pitch-
er_who was now second choice it seemed— was
much excited, and as Joe passed he heard Weston
Well, I want half the game, anyhow. Can’t
I .have it? ” r u
« X ril see what I can do,” replied Mr. ben-
son. “ ril do all I can.”
“ I’m tired of playing second fiddle,” snapped
Weston, as he drifted out behind a knot of play*
Toe beffan to think of many things.
CHAPTER XXVI
A SORE ARM
Yale won the toss and chose to go to the bat
last — always an advantage it seems — so Joe had
to go on the mound as soon as practice was con-
cluded. The usual practice of the home team
batting last did not prevail on this occasion.
The stands were filled with a mass of spectators,
in which pretty girls seemed to predominate. At
least Joe assumed that they were pretty for they
had escorts who looked on them with eyes that
seemed to bear witness to this designation. Many
of them were “stunning,” to quote De Vere, who
took a position in the outfield during practice.
“Just so he could be nearer some of the girls,”
declared Jimmie Lee, who had the reputation of
being a “ woman hater.”
“ Some crowd,” remarked Joe to Spike.
“Yes, and a go'od one, too,” declared Joe’s
room-mate. “ It isn’t all howling for Yale blood.
There are a lot of old grads, here to-day, as well
as a lot of army men, and we’ve got our friends
A SORE ARM
217
=fi
with You’ve got to play for all you’re worth.”
“I intend to,” declared Joe, “ but- "
“Now there you go!” interrupted his chum.
“ Getting doubtful of yourself. Stop it, I tell you 1
Just make up your mind that you’re going to make
good and you will. These fellows are only human,
and, though they’ve got the game down to a fine
point, and play together like machinery, on account
of their drill practice, yet baseball is always uncer-
tain. Yale luck is bound to turn up sooner or
later.”
“ It had better be sooner then,” remarked Joe,
with a grim smile. “ Two defeats, hand running,
would about put me out of business. I’d resign.”
“ Nonsense 1 ” declared Spike. “ You can make
good all right. Remember that Weston is just
hankering for a chance to displace you, so don’t
give it to him. Hold on to the mound.”
“ I intend to. And yet I heard something that
set me thinking,” and Joe related what he had in-
advertently listened to, adding:
“ I may be taken out after two innings.”
“ Not much ! ” declared Spike emphatically. “ I
see what’s going on. Weston is trying to work his
society pull and get the trainers to pitch him. The
cad!”
“ Well, I can’t find the heart to blame him,” said
Joe, softly.
2i8
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“ I can,” snapped Spike. “ He’s putting him-
self above the team.”
“Well, maybe it will all come out right,” said
Joe, but his tone did not support his words, for he
ended with a doleful sigh.
“Oh, you get out!” cried Spike cheerfully.
“ You’ve got the losing bugaboo in a bad form.
Cheer up — the worst is yet to come.”
“ Yes, a defeat,” murmured Joe, and then Spike
hit him such a thump in the back that the pitcher
had to gasp to recover his breath, and in doing so
he forgot some of his gloomy thoughts.
The practice went on over the field, until the
umpire called the captains together for the final
conference, and an agreement on the ground rules.
These were adjusted satisfactorily, and once more
the inspiring cry rang out;
“Play baU!”
“ Get ’em over, Joe,” advised Shorty Kendall,
as the young pitcher walked out to his place.
“ Shoot ’em in good and hard, but keep ’em over
the plate. I know this umpire. He’s fair, but he’s
careful. You’ll have to work for all the strikes
you get.”
“And I’m willing to,” declared Joe.
Somehow his confidence was coming back, and
as he caught the new ball which the umpire tossed
to him, he felt that he could pitch as he never had
before. He was aware of the scowling glance of
T. ^
A SORE ARM
Weston, who sat on the bench, and, as Joe
stooped over to rub some dirt on the ball, to ren-
der It less slippery, he wondered if the deposed
pitcher had so managed to “ pull strings ” as to
gain his end.
“Anyhow, I’ll pitch as long as I can,” thought
Joe with grim determination.
The game started. There was nothing remark-
able about It, at least at first, so I shall not weary
you with details of the strikes, balls, the sliding
for bases, the decisions, and the runs. Sufficient
to say that at first neither side could score. Joe
and the rival pitcher were in good form, and, aside
from scattering hits, which were usually only good
for a single bag, little was done.
For four innings neither side scored a run,
though on one decision of the umpire, when Joe
came sliding home on a sacrifice by Jimmie Lee,
and was called out, there was a howl of protest.
“Robber!”
“ Blind man ! ”
“ He was safe by a yard 1 ”
“ Don’t give It ! ” were some of the mildest epi-
thets and expressions of opinion hurled at the um-
pire.
“Hold on! That isn’t Yale’s way,” said the
captain quietly. “ It’s all right,” and the decision
stood, though had it been otherwise it would have
meant a run for Y ale.
220
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
And so the game went on until the eighth inning,
which put West Point one run ahead. There was
excitement on the part of the army and its sup-
porters, for in the last half of it Yale had been
unable to score, and it looked as if she might lose.
“ We’ve got to get ’em ! ” declared Captain Hat-
field grimly, as he and his men took the field for
the beginning of the ninth. “ Don’t let one get
past you, Joe, and then we’ll bat out two runs.”
The young pitcher nodded, but he did not smile.
He was a little in doubt of himself, for there .was
a strange numb feeling in his right arm, and he
knew that the muscles were weakening. He had
worked himself to the limit, not only in this game,
but the one with Harvard, and now he began to
pay the penalty.
Once or twice as he wound up to deliver he felt
a sharp twinge that alarmed him. He had not
asked to have one of the professional rubbers with
the team massage him, for fear the rumor would
get out that Yale’s pitcher was weakening. So he
bore it as best he could. But his arm was sore.
Joe had struck out one man, and then he was
found for a two-bagger. This man was a notori-
. ous base stealer and managed to get to third, while
the player following him, who was the heaviest
hitter on the team, had been passed by Joe on a
signal from the captain, who did not want to take
chances.
A SORE ARM 221
“He’s afraid!” came the taunt, and Joe was
beginning to get nervous, especially as his pain in-
creased.
With two on bases, and only one out, Joe saw
come to the bat a man who was an expert hunter.
He could lay the ball almost anywhere he wanted
to, and our hero realized that he was in for a bad
few minutes. It would not do to walk another.
He must get this man.
What he had feared came to pass. The player
bunted and the ball came lazily rolling toward the
pitcher. Joe and Kendall started for it, and then
Joe yelled:
“ I’ll get it — go back! ”
He felt himself slipping on a pebble, but re-
covered with a wrench that strained his sore arm.
With an effort he managed to get the ball. He
knew that if he threw it from the unnatural and
disadvantageous position he had assumed in re-
covering it, he would make his sore arm worse.
But there was no help for it.
The man on third had started for home. Joe,
with a mighty effort, threw to Kendall, who caught
it and tagged his quarry.
“ Out ! ” called the umpire. One run was saved.
Then, like a flash the catcher threw to third, for
the man who had been on first, having reached sec-
ond, rather imprudently tried for another bag. He
was tagged there by as neat a double play as could
' ”v)
■,5f 'LIBRARY 1
222
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
be desired, and the West Pointers had finished,
with hut the one run to their advantage.
“We need one to tie and two to win,” exclaimed
Shorty to Joe, as he tossed his big mitt into the air.
“Why,” he added, “what’s the matter with your
arm ? ” for he saw it hanging down limp.
“A strain,” replied Joe shortly. “Pm all
right.”
“You are not! McLeary must look at you.
We’ll play somebody else this inning. You go get
rubbed.” And Joe was glad enough to do so.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE ACCUSATION
Yale won from West Point. It was almost a
foregone conclusion after that sensational inning
when Joe went down and out with his sprained
ami) after saving the game. His mates rallied to
the support of, not only himself, but the whole
team, and, the cadets, having been held runless,
the wearers of the blue made a determined stand.
Weston was called on to go in and replace Joe,
and the former ’varsity pitcher, in spite of his feel-
ing against our hero, had that in him which made
him do his best in spite of the odds against him.
Weston was half hoping that the game would
be a tie, which would give him a chance to go on
the mound and show what he could do at pitching
against a formidable opponent of Yale. But it
was not to be, though he brought In one of the
winning runs for the New Haven bulldog.
The crowd went wild when they saw what a
game fight the visitors were putting up, and even
223
224 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
the supporters of the army lads hailed them with
delight as they pounded the cadet pitcher, for
everyone likes to see a good play, no matter if it
is made by the other side.
“ Oh, wow ! A pretty hit i ” yelled the throng as
Weston sent a two-bagger well out in the field.
His face flushed with pleasure, as he speeded
around, and, probably, had he been taken in hand
then, subsequent events might not have happened,
for his unreasonable hatred against Joe might have
been dissipated. But no one did, and the result
was that Weston felt he had been wrongly treated,
and he resolved to get even.
“Well played, boys, well played!” exclaimed
the captain of the cadets, as he came up to shake
hands with Hatfield. “You did us up good and
proper. We can’t buck such a pitcher as you have.
What happened to him ! ”
“Sprained arm,” explained Spike, who stood
near.
“Too bad! Tell him to take care of it,” re-
joined the cadet. “ Such twirlers as he is are few
and far between. Well, you beat us, but that’s no
reason why you can do it again. We’ll have your
scalps next year. Now, boys, altogether! Show
’em how West Pointers can yell.”
The cheer for the Yale team broke out in a
gladsome yell, tinged with regret, perhaps, for
West Point had been sure of winning, especially
THE ACCUSATION
toward the end, but there was no ill-feeling show-
ing in the cries that echoed over the field.
In turn the New Haven bulldog barked his ad-
miration of the gallant opponents, and then came
a special cheer for Joe Matson, whose plucky play
had made it possible for Yale to win.
Joe, in the dressing room, heard his name, and
flushed with delight. Trainer McLeary was rub-
bing his sore arm.
“ Hurt much? ” the man asked, as he massaged
the strained muscles.
“ Some,” admitted Joe, trying not to wince as
the pain shot along his arm. “ How are we mak-
ing out? ”
“We win,” decleared McLeary, as a scout
brought him word. “ And you did it.”
“ Not by pitching,” asserted Joe.
“ No, perhaps not. But every game isn’t won
by pitching. There are lots of other plays besides
that. Now you’ve got to take care of this arm.”
“ Is it bad?”
“ Bad enough so you can’t use it right away.
You’ve got to have a rest. You’ve torn one of the
small ligaments slightly, and it will have to heal.
No basdball for you for a week.”
“ No !” cried Joe aghast.
“ No, sir! Not if you want to play the rest of
the season,” replied the trainer.
Now Joe did want to finish out the season,
t .
liil
226
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
whether he came back to Yale or not, for there
were big games yet in prospect, particularly that
with Princeton, and, if it was necessary to play a
third one, it would take place on the big New York
Polo Grounds.
“And, oh I if I could only pitch before that
crowd! ” thought Joe, in a moment of anticipated
delight.
“ There, I guess you’ll do, if you keep it well
wrapped up, stay out of draughts and don’t use it,”
said the trainer finally, as he bound up Joe’s twirl-
ing wing. “No practice, even, for a week, and
then very light.”
Joe half groaned, and made a wry face, but
there was no help for it, he realized that. He
was surrounded by his mates, as the game ended,
and many were the congratulations, mingled with
commiserations, as they greeted him.
Weston even condescended to say :
“Hope you won’t be knocked out long, old
man.”
“ Thanks,” replied Joe dryly. “ It’ll be a week
anyhow.”
“ A week! ” exclaimed Weston, and he could not
keep the delight from showing on his face. Then
he hurried off to see one of the coaches. Joe had
little doubt what it meant. Weston was going to
try for his old place again while Joe was unable to
pitch.
siliil
THE ACCUSATION
“Well,” remarked De Vere, as his crony came
out of the dressing rooms, whither he had gone.
“ I should think you could drop your other game,
now that’s he out of it.”
“Not much!” exclaimed Weston, with some
passion. “ This won’t last. He’ll be back pitching
again, and do me out of it. What I’m going to do
won’t hurt him much, and it will give me a chance.
I’m entitled to it.”
“ I guess you are, old man.”
The Yale team went back jubilant, and there
was a great celebration in New Haven when the
ball nine arrived. Fires were made, and the cam-
pus as well as the streets about the college were
thronged with students. There were marches, and
songs, and Joe Matson’s name was cheered again
and again.
Meanwhile our hero was not having a very de-
lightful time. Not only was he in pain, but he
worried lest the injury to his arm prove perma-
nent.
“If I shouldn’t be able to pitch again!” he
exclaimed to Spike, in their room.
“Forget it!” advised the other. “You’ll be
at it again in a little while. Just take it easy.”
And Joe tried to, but it was hard work. It was
galling to go to practice and watch others play
the game while he sat and looked on — especially
228 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
when Weston was pitching. But there was no
help for it.
And then, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky,
it came.
The week had passed and Joe, who had done
some light practice, was sent in to pitch a couple
of Innings against the scrub. Weston was pulled
out, and he went to the bench with a scowl.
“I’ll get him yet,” he muttered to De Vere.
“ He’s put me out of it again.”
“ I’d go slow,” was the advice.
“It’s been slow enough as it is,” growled the
other.
The day for the first Princeton game was at
hand. It was to be played at Yale, and everyone
was on edge for the contest. Joe was practically
slated to pitch, and he felt his responsibility. His
arm was in good shape again.
The night before the game the Dean sent for
Joe to come to his office.
“What’s up now?” demanded Spike, as his
friend received the summons. “ Have you won
a scholarship, or is the Dean going to beg of you
not to throw the game? ”
“Both, I guess,” answered Joe with a laugh.
In his heart he wondered what the summons meant.
He was soon to learn.
“ I have sent for you, Mr. Matson,” said twe
Dean gravely, “to enable you to make some an-
THE ACCUSATION
swer to a serious accusation that has been brought
against you.”
“What is it?” faltered the pitcher.
“ Do you remember, some time ago,” the Dean
went on, “ that some red paint was put on the steps
of the house of one of the professors? The gentle-
man slipped, fell in the paint, and a very rare
manuscript was ruined. Do you remember? ”
“ Yes,” answered Joe quietly, wondering if he
was to be asked to tell what he knew.
“ Well,” went on the Dean, “ have you anything
to confess ? ”
“Who, me? Confess? Why, no, sir,” an-
swered Joe. “ I don’t know what you mean.”
“ Then I must tell you. You have been accused
of putting the red paint on the steps, and, unless
vou Drove vourself innocent you can take no fur-
Heceived from
READER’S SERVICE
CHAPTER XXVIII
VINDICATION
Joe fairly staggered back, so startled was he
by the words of the Dean — and, not only the
words, but the manner — for the Dean was solemn,
and there was a vindictiveness about him that Joe
had never seen before.
“ Why — ^why, what do you mean ? ” gasped Joe.
“ I never put the red paint on the steps I ”
“No?” queried the Dean coldly. “Then per-
haps you can explain how this pot of red paint
came to be hidden in your closet.”
“ My closet! ” cried Joe, and at once a memory
of the crimson stain on his coat came to him. “ I
never ”
“ Wait,” went on the Dean coldly. “ I will ex-
plain. It is not altogether circumstantial evidence
on which I am accusing you. The information
came to me — anonymously I regret to say — that
you had some red paint in your closet. The spoil-
ing of the valuable manuscripts was such an of-
fence that I decided to forego, for once, my ob-
VINDICATION
231
jection to acting oa anonymous information. I
did ignore one letter that accused you
“ Accused me ! ” burst out Joe, remembering the
incident in chapel.
“ Y es. But wait, I am not finished. I had your
room examined in your absence, and we found —
this.” He held up a pot of red paint.
“I had the paint on the steps analyzed,” went
on the Dean. “ It is of exactly the, same chemical
mixture as this. Moreover we found where this
paint was purchased, and the dealer says he sold it
to a student, but he will not run the risk of identi-
fying him. But I deem this evidence enough to
bar you from athletics, though I will not expel
or punish you.”
Barred from athletics ! To Joe, with the base-
ball season approaching the championship crisis,
that was worse than being expelled.
“ I — I never did it 1 ” he cried.
“ Do you know who did, if you did not? ” asked
the Dean.
Like a flash it came to Joe. He could not tell.
He could not utter his suspicions, though -he was
sure in his own heart that Weston was the guilty
one — ^the twice guilty one, for Joe was sure his
enemy had put the paint in the closet to direct
suspicion to him.
“Well?” asked the Dean, coldly.
“ I — have nothing to say,” faltered Joe.
232 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
“Very well. You may go. I shall not make
this matter public, except to issue the order barring
you from athletics.”
Without a word Joe left. Inside of an hour it
was noised all over the college that he could not
pitch against Princeton, and great was the regret,
mingled with anxiety.
“ What in thunder is up? ’’ asked Captain Hat-
field, as he sought out Joe.
“Nothing.”
“ Oh, come off I Can’t you tell ? ”
“ No,” answered Joe, and that was all he would
say.
Joe did not go to the Yale-Princeton game.
Yale won. Won easily, though had Weston, who
pitched, not been ably supported the story might
have been a different one.
“ One scalp for us,” announced Spike.
“Yes,” assented Joe gloomily.
“ Oh, you get out!” cried Spike;. “ I’m not go-
ing to stand for this. You’ve got to keep in form.
There’s no telling when this thing will aU come out
right, and you want to be in condition to pitch.
You and I will keep up practice. The Dean can’t
stop you from that.”
Nor did he try, and, though Joe was hard to
move at first, he soon consented to indulge in pitch-
ing practice with his chum. And then life at Yale
went on much as before, though Joe’s heart was
VINDICATION
233
bitter. He seldom saw Weston, who was again
first choice for Varsity pitcher.
Weston did fairly well, too, though some games
Yale should have won she lost. But it was to
Princeton that all eyes turned, looking for the col-
lege championship. Could Yale win the next con-
test?
The answer was not long delayed. Two weeks
later the bulldog invaded the tiger’s lair and was
eaten up — to the end of his stubby tail. Yale re-
ceived the worst beating in her history.
“And it’s up to Weston I ” declared Spike sav-
agely, when he came back from Princeton. “ He
was absolutely rotten. Went up in the air first
shot, and they got seven runs the first inning. Then
it was all over but the shouting, for Avondale and
McAnish couldn’t fill in the gap. Oh, Joe, if you
could only pitch ! ”
“But I can’t.”
“You’ve just got to! Yale has a chance yet.
It’s a tie now for the championship. The deciding
game will be played on the New York Polo
Grounds in two weeks. You’ve got to pitch! ”
. “ I don’t see how I can.”
“ Well, I’m going to ! ” and Spike strode from
the room, his face ablaze with anger and firm with
determination.
It seems that one of the janitors about the
college had a son who was an epileptic. The lad
234
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
was not badly afflicted and was able, most of the
time, to help his father, sometimes doing the clean-
ing at one of the student clubs.
It was to this club that Spike went when he burst
out of his room, intent on finding, in some fashion,
a way of vindicating Joe, for he was firm in his
belief that Joe was innocent in spite of the silence.
There had been rain the night before, and on a
billboard adjoining the club room some of the
gaudy red and yellow posters, announcing the final
;Yale-Princeton game, had been torn off.
Hardly knowing what he was doing. Spike
picked up part of a sheet, colored a vivid red. At
that moment, from the side entrance, Charlie, the
janitor’s son, came out, and Spike, who had often
given him odd tasks to do, and who felt sorry for
the afflicted one, playfully thrust the red paper at
him, saying:
“ Here, Charlie, take it home, and let your little
sister cut out some paper dolls.”
He slapped the paper on the lad’s hand, and
being damp and pasty it stuck there, like a splotch
of blood.
Charlie shrank back, cowering and frightened,
whimpering like a tfliild, and mumbling:
“ Don’t ! Oh, don’t Mr. Poole. Don’t put that
on me. I — can’t bear It. It’s been haunting
me. I’ll tell all I know. The red paint — ^I put it
^ere. But he — ^he made me. Some of it got on
VINDICATION
235
my hand, and I wiped it off on his coat. Oh, the
blood color ! T ake it away. I — I can’t stand it ! ”
“What’s that?” fairly yelled Spike. “Red
paint ? Here, tell me all you know ! Jove, I be-
gin to see things now ! ”
“Take it off! Take it off 1 ” begged Charlie,
and he trembled so that Spike feared he would
have a seizure.
“There — there — it’s all right, he said sooth-
ingly. “ I’ll take it off,” and he removed the of-
fending paper. “Now you come with me, and
tell me all about it,” he went on quietly. And
Charlie obeyed, like a child.
A little later Spike was closeted with the Dean,
taking Charlie with him, and when they came out
Joe’s room-mate said:
“ Then the ban is removed, sir? ”
“Certainly, Poole,” replied the Dean, “and I
will make a public explanation in the morning. I
am very sorry this occurred, and I deeply re-
gret it. But circumstances pointed to him, and I
felt I had to act. Never again, though, shall I
place any faith in an anonymous letter. Yes,
everything will be all right. If Matson had only
spoken, though I ”
“ It’s just like him not to,” said Spike.
CHAPTER XXIX
BUCKING THE TIGER
“ Hurray I Matson is going to pitch for us !’*
“Get out! He’s barred! ”
“ Not now. It’s all off. He’ll pitch against
Princeton!”
“ Where’d you hear it? ”
“ What’s the matter with Weston? ”
“Oh, he’s gone — vamoosed — flew the coop.
Couldn’t stand the disgrace. It’ll all be out in the
morning.”
Student meeting student on the campus-, in dor-
mitories, in the commons, at Glory’s — anywhere in
fact, passed these, and similar remarks.
“And to think you knew, all the while, that
Weston put that red paint on the steps, and you
wouldn’t squeal I ” cried Spike, clapping his chum
on the shoulder.
“ Would you? ” asked Joe quietly.
“Well — er — ^now you have got me, old man!
But it’s all right. Come on out and celebrate.”
And they celebrated as they never had before.
236
BUCKING THE TIGER
Joe was given an ovation when he entered Glory’s,
and every member of the nine— substitutes and all
—were there to do him honor. That is, all but
Weston and De Vere. They had quietly taken
themselves from Yale.
The explanation was simple. Weston had, as
my readers know already, put the red paint on the
piofessors steps. He was not discovered, for
Joe kept quiet. Then, when our hero was pre*
ferred as pitcher, in the bitterness of his heart,
Weston planned to throw suspicion on him. He
sent the first anonymous letter, though Avondale
knew nothing of it. Then Weston took De Vere
into his confidence and the two evolved the scheme
of smuggling the pot of red paint, that Weston
had used, into Joe’s closet. The epileptic lad,
Charlie, was the innocent medium, and once the
paint was hidden Weston sent the second anony-
mous letter to the Dean, telling about it.
What happened is well known. Joe was ac«
cused, and would not inform on another to save
himself. Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do—,
certainly he owed it to himself to have the right
to vindication. I am not defending him, I am only
telling of what happened.
Then came the dramatic episode, when Spike
unwittingly brought out the truth from Charlie.
It seems that the boy’s conscience had been
troubling him, for though Weston pretended it
238 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
was only an innocent joke he was playing on Joe,
the lad suspected something.
And so the full explanation was made to the
Dean, and the latter, publicly, at chapel the next
morning, begged Joe’s pardon, and restored him
to his full rights. As for Weston and De Vere,
they were not in evidence. They had left Yale.
“ Sharp practice from now on,” ordered Mr.
Hasbrook, when the excitement had quieted down
somewhat. “We’ll have to replace De Vere at
right field, but otherwise the team will be the same
as before. Matson, you’ll pitch, of course.”
“And he’ll win for us, tool ” cried Spike.
“ I’m sure I hope so,” went on the head coach.
“ Spike, if it wasn’t so late in the season I’d let
you catch. You deserve something for your share
in this.”
“ Oh, I wouldn’t think of catching now, though
it would be great,’’ declared Joe’s chum. “ Give
me a chance next season.”
“ I sure will,” said the head coach. “ Get busy
now, everybody. We’ve got to beat Princeton! ”
“Oh, Joe, do you think we’ll win?” asked
Spike, half nervously, the night before they were
to start for New York to meet their rivals.
“Win! Of course we’ll win! ” cried Joe, and
though so much depended on him, he was the cool-
est member of the team.
CHAPTER XXX
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
Such a crowd as filled the big Polo Grounds?
The grandstands seemed full, and the bleachers
too, but the elevated and surface roads brought
more constantly, and the honking autos added to
the clamor. It was a perfect day, and the ball
field — one of the best in the world — where pro>
fessionals meet professionals — ^was laid out with
mathematical precision.
From their lairs near the press boxes the tigers
trotted to be welcomed with shouts and yells from
their supporters and the songs of their fellows.
“They beat us once — as we did them,” said
Joe in a low voice. “ They may beat us again.”
“Not much!” cried Spike. “A Yale victory
is in the air. I can feel it! Look at that blue,”
and he pointed to the sky, “ and then at that,’*
and he waved toward the azure-hued Yale stand,
“ and say we’re going to lose ! I guess not ! ”
“A cheer for every man ! ” yelled the leader of
the Princeton cheer masters, who were armed with
big megaphones as were their New Haven rivals.
239
'I';' ■> i
Si 40 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
except that the ribbons were of the tiger’s stripes,
“ A cheer for every man ! ”
And then, as the Jersey cheer was howled there
followed each time the name of some player-
sweet music to their ears, no doubt.
“They’re signalling to us,” said Spike a little
later. “ I guess they want us inside to come out
all in a bunch, as Princeton did.”
This was the import of the message delivered
to them a little later as they filed into the dressing
rooms, where the team and substitutes now were.
“Remember, boys,” said the captain solemnly,
“we’ve got to win. It’s Yale’s luck against
Princeton’s maybe, but even with that it’s got to
be bulldog pluck against the tiger’s fierceness.
They can play ball.”
“ And so can we I ” declared several, in low
voices.
“ Prove it— by beating ’em ! ” was the quick
retort. “ Pile out now, and have some snap to
you ! ”
If Yale had gone wild, so now did the students
from her rival college. The orange and black,
which had been in evidence on the opposite stand
to that which showed the blue, now burst forth in
a frenzy of color. Hats were tossed in the air,
canes too, and one excited man dashed his tall
cilk head covering about with such energy that he
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
S5plit It on the walking stick of a gentleman seated
near him.
“I beg your pardon,” said the one with the
stick.
“ Don’t mention it ! My fault entirely — I’m
too excited, I guess, but I used to play on the
Princeton team years ago, and I came to-day to
see her win. I don’t care for a hat — I can buy lots
more. But Princeton is going to win ! Wow I ”
“I’m sorry for vou,” said the other with a
smile. “ But Yale has the bulge to-day.”
“Never!”
“ I tell you she has 1 ”
And then the argument began, good-natured
enough, but only one of many like It going on all
about the grounds.
“ Hark! ” said Joe to Spike, as they were walk-
ing back toward the diamond. “Isn’t that great?”
There had come a momentary hush, and the
sweet strains of the Princeton song — “Orange
and Black,” floated over the big diamond. Many
of the spectators — 'former college men — joined
in, Yale ceased her cheering while this was ren-
dered, and then came a burst of applause, for the
melody was exceptionally well rendered.
“ Well, they may sing, but they can’t play ball,”
said Spike.
Out came the bulldogs, and at once it seemed
as> if a bit of blue sky had suddenly descended on
Received from
service
Pfesb- Besrsl ei FoiS'£n Missiorrg
242 BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
the stands, so solid was the mass of ultramarine
color displayed, in contrast to the orange and
black.
“Joe, old man, isn’t it great I ” cried Spike,
capering about. “To think that I’m really going
to play in this big championship game I ”
“ It’s fine ! ” exclaimed Joe, yet he himself was
thinking how glorious it would be if he was only a
professional, and could occupy the mound of the
Polo Grounds regularly instead of on this rare
occasion. “ And I will, too, some day ! ” he mur-
mured.
“Play ball!”
The practice was over, the last conference be-
tween coaches, pitchers, catchers and captains had
been held. The championship was now to be con-
tested for. Yale had won the toss and taken last
chance at bat.
“Play ball!”
Joe walked to the mound, a trifle nervous, as
anyone would have been under the circumstances,
but, with it all, holding himself well in hand. As
he got ready to deliver the customary five balls
before attending to the batter a quiet-appearing
man, sitting in one of the press boxes, moved so
as to get a better view of the young pitcher.
“ What’s the matter. Mack? ” asked one of the
reporters^ “ Think you see some bushleaguers in
this bundh of college boys? ”
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
“You never can tell,” was the quiet answer.
“ I’m always on the lookout for recruits, and I’m
particularly in need of a good pitcher.”
“ Well, both teams have some good ones I
hear,” went on the newspaper man, and then he
devoted himself to sending out an account of the
game to his paper.
With the first ball that he delivered Joe knew
that he was in shape to pitch the game of his
career. He was sure of his control, and he real-
ized that with a little care he could place the horse-
hide just where he wanted it to go.
“ If we can only bat a few we’ve got diis
cinched,” decided Joe, always aware, though, of
the fatal element of luck.
The early results seemed to justify his confi-
dence. For four innings not a Princeton man got
farther than first base, and the crowd was wildly
cheering him.
“If it will only last,” he thought, and the
memory of his sore arm came to him as a shock.
But he had not suffered from it since, and he
hoped he would not.
On her part Yale had managed to get one run
across, and thus the game stood aFthe beginning
of the fifth inning. In that, for one fearful mo-
ment, Joe had fears. He had been signalled to
walk the heaviest batter, but something went
wrong, and the man plugged a three bagger that
344
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
got past Spike. The next man up was a good
hitter, and Kendall, in fear and trembling, sig-
nalled for another pass. But Joe shook his head.
He was going to try to strike him out. And he
did. ■ ,
Amid wild roars the man was retired, and
when two more had gone down, and Princeton
was still without a run, pandemonium broke loose.
Though Yale tried with all her might to sweeten
the score, she could not — at least in the next two
innings. She batted well, but Princeton seemed to
be right on the ball every time. And with only one
run as a margin, the game was far from won.
“ But we’ll do it! ” cried Hatfield, fiercely.
“ That’s what! ” echoed Joe.
Yale’s chance came in the eighth inning, when,
owing to an error by the Princeton shortstop, a
man got to first. None were out, and Joe rapped
out a pretty two-bagger that, followed by a wild
throw home, enabled a man to score. Then Joe
was brought in on a sacrifice hit, and when the
inning ended Yale had three more runs, making
■the score four to nothing in her favor.
Once more the riot of blue shot over the stands,
while the orange and black fluttered listlessly. But
the tiger was growling in his lair, while the bull-
dog was thus barking, and every Yale player knew
iJiat fortune might yet turn against them.
But when Princeton had her last chance to bat,.
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
and only managed to get one run, it was all over
but the shouting. Joe had pitched magnificently,
and when the last chance of the Princeton tiger
had vanished there was a rush for the young
^pitcher, and he was fairly carried away on the,
^shoulders of his fellows.
And such cheering as there was !
“Yale wins! ”
“Yale is champion! ”
“ Three cheers for Baseball Joe I ”
The field swarmed with the spectators, who
hardly stayed to hear the victors and vanquished
cheer each other. The quiet man who had sat
in the press box managed to get a word to Joe,
though he had to shout to be heard above the
din. The young pitcher looked startled, then
pleased, and his voice faltered as he answered;
after a little more talk :
“ But supposing I don’t make good, Mr. —
er — ? ”
“Mack is my name, I represent the manager;
in fact I’m his assistant.”
“ But supposing I don’t make good? ” repeated
Joe. “ I know I can do pretty well here, but, as
you say, I don’t seem to take to the college life.
Still, I wouldn’t want to make a public try as I’d
have to, and then give up. It would bar me from
the amateur ranks forever.”
“ Yes, I know that,” was the answer, “but you.
S46
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
needn’t be afraid. Look here, Matson. This Isn’t
the first time I’ve done such a thing as this. It’s
part of my business, and part of my business to
know what I’m doing. I can size a player up as
quick as a horse buyer can a spavined nag. I’ve
sized you up, and I know you’re all wool and a
yard wide.”
“ But this is the first time you’ve seen me play.”
“It was enough, I tell you.”
“And, as I said,” went on Joe, “ I don’t want
to be in the position of putting myself out of the
game. If I go in with you, and fail, I probably
never could get another chance.”
“ Oh, yes you could. But look here, Matson,
you mustn’t think of failure. You’re not built that
way. Now aren’t you sport enough to take a
chance ? ”
Joe was silent for a moment. He thought of
many things — of his overpowering ambition, and
then answered falterlngly:
“I— I’m willing to tiy.”
“All right, then I’ll sign you,” was the answer.
Another rush of the delirious students almost
carried Joe off his feet. He was cheered an'd
cheered again. Through the mob came pushing
and shoving the president of the exclusive Anvil
Club.
“I say, Matson,” he began, “this is great!
Yale has come into her own again. We’d like thfe
UQRARY
THE CHAMPIONSHIP
honor of electing you to our society) and would
be pleased to have you make application.”
“I’m much obliged to you,” spoke Joe slowly,
“but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“You can’t! "Why not?”
“ Because I’m going to leave Yale I ”
“Leave Yale!” came the indignant protest.
“What for?”
“ Because I have just accepted, tentatively, an
offer from one of the managers of a professional
league to pitch for him the rest of this season,
and all of next,” replied Joe quietly.
“That’s right,” confirmed the man wbo' had
whispered in our hero’s ear. “ I know a good
pitcher when I see one, and there is no use of
Matson wearing himself out on a college nine.
He is cut out for a professional ! ”
And to all fhe protests of his classmates Joe
would not give in. He knew that college was no
place for him, and as the chance had come to get
into the professional ranks, at good pay, he itas
going to take it; provided, of course, that his folks
were willing.
How he did, and what hapipened, will be told
m the next volume of this series, to be called,
“ Baseball Joe in the Central League ; Or, Making
Good as a Professional Pitcher.”
“ Oh, Joe, can’t you reconsider, and stay at
Yale? ” begged Spike, when he and his chum, after
, I/. / *4. * ' vfj.f t, f!| ,
/'f
^*#€1 &» 8 1 1 li . Q f f / . , ^^ . _, , J ‘ ; ,. .
baseball joe at YALE
■■■it- ■ •■:,■, . ■
the exciting events of the championship game, wer«
in their room once more. “ I don’t know what l‘m
going to do without you.”
“ Spike, oid man,” said Joe, and his voice broke
■a little. “ I would like to stay, for your sake, and
for some of the other fine fellows I’ve met here.
I’d like to stay in spite of the unpleasant exper-
ience I’ve had. I know it’s going to break mother
all up to hear I’ve left college, but I’m not cut out
for it. I’m a squaye peg in a round hole. I want
to get into professional baseball, and I’ve just ffot
to. I shouldn’t be happy here.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” said Spike, with a
sigh, “ I’m not going to say anything more. Only
it sure is tough luck. Yale will miss you.”
“ And I’ll miss her, too, in a way. But ray place
isn’t here.”
There was silence between them for a space,
and then Spike said softly:
“ Come on down to Glory’s — for the last time,
Joe.”
And they went out together.
THE END
Received ffom
BEADftrs Sfi'iV'lCE
fresh- Boaid oi foreitn iVii
Live Music
Archive
Librivox
Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland
Museum of Art
Internet
Arcade
Console Living Room
Open Library
American
Libraries
TV News
Understanding
9/11